


First Twice

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU-First Meeting, Addiction, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasy, Handcuffs, John Loses His Virginity, M/M, Mycroft Takes Control Of Sherlock's Recovery, Sherlock Pays For Drugs by Escorting, Sherlock's PTSD, Time Jump, Toys, john's ptsd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-14 07:31:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2183226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock meet in unusual circumstances before John heads off to the Army. When they meet again after John's return, will their pasts keep from them having a future together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John's Last Night

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

John knew it was stupid to be out right now. The bus for boot camp was leaving early tomorrow morning and here he was in a pub, trying to pick up a man. All the nights he'd spent locked in his dorm room reading medical journals and science books, ignoring parties and invites from friends, had led up to this. He deserved one night.

The army was going to train him to be a doctor, even paying for medical school when he got back and wanted to specialise. The catch was that he only had a week to get ready to go. After graduating he'd gone home to see his family, had a graduation party forced on him by his mum, spent two days going through all of his things to pack, and now the day was finally here.

Well, it would be here tomorrow. God knows what was going to happen to him out there so he wanted to properly live tonight. Being gay made it difficult to live certain experiences, especially when he'd never met another gay boy on campus. John was a virgin and he refused to go into boot camp like that. So here he was at this small, crowded club, scanning the crowd for someone he liked enough to be his first. 

He knew it was a silly notion at his age, but he liked to think it would be somewhat special. He walked to the bar for another drink, seeing a tall, pale man on the other side. He was very handsome -- sharp features that really worked well under those soft curls. But no man like that would ever be interested in John. He stayed by the bar even after he got his drink, stealing glances at him and secretly being glad that no one else was talking to him. Maybe with a couple more drinks John would be able to go up to him. He took a large gulp, biting his lip at the thought.

Sherlock always found this place relatively appealing -- a cleaner and usually richer clientele, though a client was not always a guarantee here, like it was when he walked through the alleys a few miles away. There he could always earn money, and he knew it'd be likely he'd end up there later this evening if no one here was interested. But it was worth trying, just in case. The environment just made it all seem more . . . normal wasn't precisely the right word -- this wasn't normal wherever it happened, but then again Sherlock was not a normal person. But being here, he guessed it just made it easier to pretend he wasn't doing what he was doing.

He ordered another drink -- was it his second or third, he wasn't sure, but it didn't really matter. The bartender didn't charge him because his drinks were only soda water dressed up to look alcoholic. Sherlock didn't care for being drunk and in his line of work, it paid to have his wits about him. He glanced up and noticed a young man on the other side of the bar. He was handsome and, within a few minutes Sherlock realised, clearly interested in Sherlock. Which was unusual -- here, the clients were usually older. Sherlock caught his eye and smiled at him. _That_ smile, the smile that revealed he was what the man was looking for.

John caught the man's eye and that smile! John's whole body flushed when he realised it was being directed at him. He drained his glass and took a deep breath, leaving his safe corner of the bar to venture out to this man. His mind asked a million questions but he tried ignoring it, staying focused so he wouldn't chicken out.

When he got in front of this man, it took him a good minute to speak. He was even more handsome in person -- well, up closer, and John could hardly believe he'd looked at him let alone offered that inviting smile. "Hello," he said lamely, even half raising one of his hands. He cringed inwardly.

"Hello," Sherlock said, grasping the man's hand and holding just a few seconds longer than any normal handshake would last. 'First time hiring an escort' might as well have been written across this guy's face. But his face was handsome and, for some reason, Sherlock found him quite sweet. "Can I get you another drink?" he asked, thinking that it might help to relax the guy.

"I was just going to ask you the same thing," John said, leaning a bit closer so he could be heard.

Sherlock smiled. "You can get the next one," he said. He motioned to the bartender who brought over another drink for the man. "What's your name then?" he asked.

"John," he said, taking the drink in his hands. "John Watson. What about yours?"

"Really? You're a John?" Sherlock said, laughing a little. "That works, I guess. My name's Sherlock," he added, then wondered why he had told him his real name -- he always used aliases with clients. He took a sip from his glass. "I don't think I've seen you here before. Do you travel around?"

"I just graduated -- I don't really go out much," John said. Sherlock. That was interesting. "I'm celebrating tonight."

Sherlock looked around. "Where's the rest of the party?" he asked tentatively. Did he get John wrong or was this something weird?

"There's no one here with me," he said. "Most of the guys have already gone home for the summer."

"Oh, I see," Sherlock said. He leaned over and tapped his glass to John's. "Well, congratulations on graduating. You've got the whole world ahead of you now. Any big plans?"

"Medical school," John said. "After I finish with the army," he added. He found himself glancing at Sherlock as he said that, trying to read what his reaction would be. He'd got everything from being called brave to being called an idiot.

"Well, that _is_ a big plan, John Watson," Sherlock said. "I can understand why you're celebrating," He shot the bartender a look to tell him to keep John's glass filled. He turned his body in his chair to face John. "Thanks for letting me be a part of your night."

"Yeah," John smiled. "I saw you looking over so I figured I would come and say hello." He just stopped himself from admitting how surprised he was that someone like Sherlock was interested in him. He didn't want to scare him off. "Do you go to university?"

"I did," Sherlock said, taking a drink. "I finished a bit early. It wasn't really for me. Too many rules. But you must like rules, if you're going into the army . . . or do you just like the idea of being in danger?"

"I like the idea of their helping with medical school," John smiled. He swirled his drink and finished it. "And I suppose it's going to be good experience, working under pressure and things like that. What did you go to school for?"

"Chemistry," Sherlock said. "I'm interested in chemicals, which I suppose could be just as dangerous as the army." He shrugged his shoulders a little and continued, "I suppose I've not really found my niche just yet, you know. I've got skills, but I've not decided the best place to use them." 

"Are you working now?" John asked, looking down and realising his drink was full again. He reached into his pocket to get his wallet out. 

"Yes, I'm working," Sherlock said before realising John didn't mean just tonight. ". . . just odd jobs." He laughed a bit to himself -- it was an odd job, wasn't it? He let John put some money on the bar. "I'm sure I'll get myself together soon enough. Look, it's quite noisy in here. Do you want to go across the street to the coffee shop where it's quieter?" He had a feeling this guy would want a little time before getting to business. He didn't mind. John seemed quite nice actually, and Sherlock was enjoying talking to him.

"Yeah, sure," John said, putting money down on the bar to cover both of them. He realised suddenly that by agreeing to leave with Sherlock, he'd already decided that this was the man he was going to lose his virginity to. It was an odd thought, and it made him feel too warm. What if Sherlock didn't even want to have sex? Would John be able to make the first move? What if that scared him off?

Sherlock led John from the bar, holding open the door of the coffee shop for him. He ordered a tea and paid for it himself and then waited while John ordered. Sherlock stood behind him, noticing his fit body and nice hair. It was a bit stupid to start romanticising, but he supposed that's precisely what he was doing. It didn't matter, he thought, John was leaving town tomorrow and besides, ultimately this was business. He needed the money.

They took a seat on the soft sofa in back. Sherlock held his cup to his face, the steam felt nice after the chilly night air. "So . . . are you leaving anyone behind as you go out on your travels?" he asked.

John shook his head. "Just my family," he said. "But I hardly see them anyways so it's not a big deal," he shrugged. He was staring too much -- Sherlock's flushed cheeks from the chill after the hot air in the bar contrasting nicely against his pale skin. He looked even more handsome here without the harsh strobing lights.

He knew Sherlock was fishing for information on a girlfriend or boyfriend, and John desperately wanted to know if he had anyone but didn't know how to ask. Sherlock wasn't going anywhere. So John settled for sipping on his tea instead.

"I suppose, I'm a bit jealous," Sherlock said, a little wistfully. "I wish I were going somewhere new . . . to start over." He set his mug down and scratched his arm. "You must be really excited."

"You can always go somewhere new," John said, smiling softly and taking another drink. "I was excited -- I'm just getting more nervous now that the day is here. It's not like I'm going on holiday," he joked, trying to ease his own nerves a bit.

"It's not easy to leave messes you've made," Sherlock said, "Anyway, I can understand why you'd be anxious but try to turn that into anticipation. You're obviously smart -- you've thought this through. Get everything you can out of it and when you return, you'll be on your way to becoming a doctor. You'll be fine. Better than fine, I'm sure," he dropped his hand lightly onto John's leg. He saw the move register on John's face, saw his brain processing it, but noticed John didn't move his hand away.

John turned more towards Sherlock, just slightly, at the touch. "I'll try and keep that in mind," he murmured. The touch on his leg seemed to kick off a motion of other things -- opening the door to more possibilities than just talking. He leaned in a bit, holding Sherlock's gaze. "By the time I come back, you'll have found your niche."  

"I hope so," Sherlock said, squeezing John's thigh softly. "Look, do you want to go back to mine? I don't mean to rush things, but I know you've got somewhere to be in the morning. I've got a room just a few minutes away. Shall we?"

John's stomach swooped suddenly, and he swallowed hard before nodding. "Yeah, that sounds good," he said. He put his mug down with slightly shaking hands and steadied them as he gripped the table to scoot out. "Are we walking?"

"Yeah, it's just right up the road," Sherlock said, grabbing John's hand. John's nerves still seemed quite sweet to Sherlock, who wasn't quite sure why he was being so sentimental. He led John a few blocks down the road to a small, not-particularly-nice hotel and into a small room.


	2. John's First Time

When he shut the door, Sherlock put his hands to John's cheeks and kissed his mouth softly. He pulled back and said, "I get the sense you've not done this before . . . it's okay, I'll take care of you." He leaned in and kissed him again.

John wasn't expecting anything to start so suddenly and for the first kiss he was just frozen there. And then the second one came and he actually kissed back, bringing his hands to Sherlock's chest. "I've never . . . well, like you said," he murmured, looking down. "I wanted to before I left," he admitted.  

Sherlock smiled and kissed him again. He turned them and stepped back a little. He slipped John's jumper over his head and then kissed him again. "Don't be nervous -- it's just something new, like tomorrow will be. Anticipate, but don't worry, okay?" He kissed him again as he started to unbutton John's shirt and then slid it off him. He stepped closer. "I just need to know one thing," he said, sliding a hand down to palm John's cock through his jeans. "Do you want me to . . . top or bottom?" His voice was a whisper as he moved his mouth over John's face.

John whimpered softly and bucked into his hand. He was already panting and gripping his arms. "Um . . . top, I think," he murmured. That's what he'd been the most curious about and eager to try.

"All right, that's all I need, I'm going to take care of things now -- but you tell me if there's something you don't like," Sherlock said softly. He hadn't really done anything like this before: not the breaking in of a virgin, he'd done that -- the tenderness, that was the new bit. And, even though he was prepared to convince an outside person that it was all just part of the package, part of the act, if he were truthful -- it really wasn't but he wasn't sure why. But he had other things to think about at the moment.

He kissed John's mouth again and then moved to his collarbone and then dipped to suck one of John's nipples. He slid his hands down John's body to his waistband and started undoing the button and zip. Then he dropped down to his knees and opened John's trousers, pulling them down and helping John step out of them. He faced John again and said, "Relax" before lifting John's cock with one hand and starting to cover it with licks and kisses.

John could hardly think. Lust and heat seemed to be consuming him. He knew he wanted to take Sherlock's shirt off, he wanted to kiss him, to touch him, but suddenly Sherlock was on his knees and John hadn't done any of that. "Oh god," John moaned.

"Put your hands on my head, John, then you're in control," he said softly before slipping John's cock into his mouth. He worked his tongue around it, swirling and then drawing lines with the tip. Then he took more of it into his mouth and began bobbing his head, taking him deeper each time. He slid one hand around John's body, pressing softly on his lower back.

John laced the fingers of both hands into Sherlock's hair, gripping tightly so he wouldn't buck into his mouth. It was hot and wet, and he couldn't stop watching. "Feels good," he moaned. "So good."

Sherlock hummed in appreciation. He kept going, but stayed mindful of John's inexperience and the time. Sherlock needed to be in charge of the pace. After a few more minutes, he pulled off and stood up. "Get in the bed now, John," he said as he began to take off his clothes.

"Can I?" John asked softly, reaching out to the buttons of Sherlock's shirt. He eased his hands out of the way and worked quickly, pushing the shirt from his shoulders. "I want to touch and taste," he said. He pressed a kiss to Sherlock's chest he his hands moved to the button of his trousers, working those off as well. 

"All right," Sherlock said, letting John take the lead. He lifted a hand to John's arm and rested it there.

John pressed kisses down his sternum as he pushed his trousers down, and then his pants. He looked down and bit his lip at the sight. John looked up at Sherlock again. "Can I put my mouth on you -- I mean, should we put a condom on first?" 

"You sure you want to do it? You don't have to," Sherlock said, reaching over to the table next to the bed. He pulled out a strip of condoms and a bottle of lube. He opened one of the condoms and sat down on the side of the bed. "Don't feel obliged -- you don't have to do anything for me," he said, looking up and waiting for John's response.

"I want to. Not just for you but to try it. I want to try everything, " John said. He knelt in front of Sherlock and looked up at him, rubbing his thighs.

Sherlock smiled softly and rolled the condom on. He leaned back and put his hands on the bed. "All right," he said, "I shan't say no to the offer."

John opened his mouth and sucked the head in, bobbing slowly on his cock. It was different and he found himself wishing he could taste Sherlock. He moved lower and lower, testing how much he could take. 

Sherlock exhaled slowly. "It's good, John, you're doing good," he said as he slipped one hand to John's shoulder. "Good," he said again softly, because it was.

Encouraged, John moved lower, gripping and massaging his thighs as he swallowed and moaned around him.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a few minutes, forgetting himself, everything. And then he opened them and pushed on John's shoulder a little. "All right Mr Eager Mouth," he said softly, "I think you should probably stop that." He smiled and pulled John up for a kiss. He moved his mouth to John's neck and then up to his ear where he whispered, "It felt good. I want you in the bed now."

John nodded and crawled up onto the bed, laying on his back and gazing at Sherlock. It was dangerous, giving his first time away like this. He was too sentimental for this. He was already looking at Sherlock like a lovesick teenager. He drew circles on his own belly, waiting for what would come next. 

Sherlock walked naked into the bathroom, saying " _In_ the bed, please." He returned with two glasses of water, handing one to John. "Here have a sip of that -- those condoms don't really taste of anything, but still . . ." and then he walked around to the other side of the bed and got in. He turned off the lamp on his side and then slid close to John, who had set aside the glass and laid back down. "You seem less nervous," Sherlock said softly, "but remember to talk to me, yeah?" He leaned over and kissed John, long and hard, as he slid against him and then almost on top of him, his hands moving behind John's head.

John hummed into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Sherlock and running his hands all over his back and sides. His skin was warm and soft and John could touch it forever. 

Sherlock started to roll his hips against John. He dropped a hand and slid it under the covers and started to stroke John slowly. He continued to kiss John as his hand increased its pressure and speed. "I want to make you feel good," he moaned softly. "I want to give you something to think of every night you're away." 

John flushed at the intimacy of that, closing his eyes and rolling up against Sherlock. "I want to remember you," he murmured, knowing that all of these things were only digging him deeper and deeper into trouble. 

Sherlock moved fully on top of John now and lowered himself down his body. He licked the tip of John's cock again as he continued to stroke, but then he moved even lower, licking John's thigh and then across his balls. "Will you hand me the bottle on the table next to you?" he asked. He was moving his hands over John's thighs, squeezing them.

John stretched for the bottle, bringing it down to Sherlock and petting his hair as he passed it. His nerves and excitement spiked and he chewed his lip, trying to imagine what it was going to feel like. He'd used his own fingers masturbating before, but he knew this was going to be different. 

Sherlock took the bottle, still rubbing one of John's thighs. "You're very fit," Sherlock said, "sexy -- you'll have men all over you in the army, I bet." He poured some lube into his hands and went back to rubbing John's inner thighs, occasionally letting his fingers pass over John's balls as he moved more inward. He dropped his head and licked at John's cock.

"Not allowed there," he murmured. "That's why I wanted tonight -- wanted to know." _In case I don't make it back._ He left that part out -- it was much too depressing for a time like this. And if this was going to be the only time, he was glad it was with Sherlock. "That's why I want to remember." Every place Sherlock touched exploded with heat, and John wriggled and squirmed every time. 

"Oh, I think you'll be surprised," Sherlock said, thinking of the army men he had known. He moved his hand now firmly between John's legs, stroking back and forth, slicking everywhere. He lifted up on one elbow and tipped his head towards John as he slowly pushed a finger in. He wanted to watch him. His face and body reacted, but something told Sherlock this wasn't an entirely new experience. He started to slowly pump his finger and it glided easily in and almost out thanks to the lube, even through the tightness of John's muscle. Sherlock bent over and sucked on the tip of John's cock again, humming against it.

The double sensation was almost too much. John tried not to buck into his mouth while pushing down on his hand. It felt good, a slight burn, and he wanted more. He laced his fingers into Sherlock's hair, petting and tugging, desperate to touch him in any way he could. "Sherlock . . . that's so good."

"Keep breathing," Sherlock said, as he slipped in a second finger. "You're very sexy, John, I can't believe you denied your classmates this pleasure," he said as he separated his fingers slightly. He put his lips around John's cock again.

"No one . . . no one offered," he moaned softly, his back arching a bit now as he was properly opened for Sherlock. He felt exposed and a bit shy but he ignored it, focusing on how good it felt. 

"I don't believe it," Sherlock said, shifting his body a bit. "Can you hand me a condom?" he asked softly, stilling his fingers but keeping them inside.

John reached for a condom and passed it down to Sherlock, his breathing becoming quicker and more shallow. He swallowed hard and looked up at the ceiling, biting his lip. He wanted this -- wanted Sherlock -- but the weight of it all was pressing down on him. He suddenly felt he'd sentenced himself to death, taking in whatever pleasures he could before the end. Had he rushed into his decision to go? "Sherlock," he whispered, trying to pull him up, trying to look at him, to calm his mind down a bit.  

Sherlock took the condom but saw the look on John's face. He slid his fingers out and crawled up over John, lying down on top of him. He kissed his mouth and then rested his head on the pillow next to him. "We can stop," he said, softly. "Do you want to stop? It's all right." He stroked John's cheek and then slipped his hand under the covers to rest on John's belly, his fingertips close to John's cock. "You're so perfect, I just want you to feel good . . . we can stay like this if that's what would make you feel good."

John shook his head. "I . . . I want to," he murmured. "I do. I just . . .I had a moment, that's all." He took a deep breath and turned to face Sherlock. "I'm sorry. I do want this, Sherlock," he said quietly. He scolded himself for being so silly. It was just sex -- no one thought of it as something special anymore. Sherlock didn't. If he didn't pull himself together he was going to say or do something stupid. "I'm okay," he smiled softly, pecking Sherlock's lips. 

"Let's just lie like this for a few minutes," Sherlock said softly, moving his hand to John's cock and stroking it slowly. Sherlock's breathing picked up and he moved closer to John's ear so he could hear. He started rocking against John's hip in the same rhythm as his hand and let little noises escape from his mouth. "I want you, John," he said, "can I have you now? Please . . ." he reached over and sucked John's earlobe into his mouth.

John nodded quickly. He wondered if he would have to be opened up again and he suddenly felt very stupid. "Yes . . . Sherlock please. . . "The words slipped out between soft moans and pants. He turned his head and kissed Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock moved back down again. He pulled the covers away so that John could see what he was doing. He rolled the condom on and then poured some more lube into his hands. With one hand he stroked himself, slicking the condom, and with the other, he pushed his fingers back into John. His hips rocked as his hands moved and he looked straight at John. "Anytime you want to stop, just say stop," he said softly. He moved closer to John's body. He slipped his hands under John's thighs and lifted his hips. "Hold your legs up if you can and keep breathing," he said, as he held himself and lined up. With his other hand, he touched John's belly softly and then stroked his cock as he slowly pushed inside. He kept his eyes on John's face.

John pulled his knees up like Sherlock asked, feeling even more exposed than before. He nodded his agreement, took in slow deep breaths, and then it was happening. The burn was worse than before as Sherlock stretched him open, moving deeper into his body. He felt every movement no matter how small and he kept reminding himself that this was normal. That he would stretch and it was going to feel fantastic. "Will you kiss me?" he asked softly, focusing on the slow movement.  

Sherlock leaned over and kissed John softly on the mouth. "Keep breathing, John," he whispered, "deep breaths." He moved to kiss all over John's face. "You're so beautiful," he said, "you feel so good." He reached up and held onto the headboard and pulled a little, using his forearms to start a slow rocking movement. He looked back and kissed John again. "Okay?"

John nodded. "I can't believe you . . .you picked me," he mumbled, the words matching up with Sherlock's thrusts. Breathing on the way in and speaking on the way out. It was getting easier. Better. It was starting to feel good, the tight movement very satisfying. He pressed kisses to Sherlock's lips when it stung a bit, but eventually that went away as well. "You feel good . . ." 

"I'm lucky you chose me," Sherlock said, "but I need to move more, you feel too good." He kept using the headboard to keep the movement deep but not angled. The bed made noise as he moved. "Do you hear that sound?" he said. "Remember it, remember the sound of this bed as I fuck you." Eventually, he lifted himself up. "Pull your legs up as far as you can and separate your knees," he said in between small grunts. He reached down and started stroking John, slowly for a minute and then fast and hard. He said, "Put your hands on my hair," before dipping his head down and starting to suck on John's nipple.

Heat pooled into John's belly at the words Sherlock used, doing as he asked without a second thought. He had his knees up as high as he could and his fingers buried into his hair probably holding too tightly. He was already close to bursting. "I'm . . . I'm going to come . . . Sherlock . . . I'm sorry . . ." John half whined, half moaned.

Sherlock kept his hand hard and fast on John's cock and he pumped harder into him. "Fuck," he said against John's chest, then lifted his head. "I want to see your face when you come, I want to memorise it," he moaned, "come into my hand, John . . . you feel so good." 

John squeezed his eyes shut and moaned his name, coming into Sherlock's hand and onto his belly. He arched, panted and groaned, bucking into Sherlock for more. It was his most intense orgasm ever. He collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavily and murmuring Sherlock's name.

Sherlock dropped both hands to John's hips and pulled them hard against him, thrusting a few more times until he also came. He called John's name and then leaned in and kissed him hard, lifting his hands into John's hair and tangling it. "You okay?" he said, panting.

John nodded, panting as he slowly put his feet against the bed again. "I'm . . . that was . . ." He simply sighed loudly and closed his eyes, kissing Sherlock. He didn't know what or where, but he couldn't get enough.

"Good," Sherlock said, "I'm glad it was good." Sherlock slid out of John and reached down to grab the condom. He sat up a bit and tied it before tossing it in the bin. He lay back down next to John. "Do you feel different?" he asked, smiling at John. 

John nodded, hiding his face in the pillow shyly. "That's stupid, I know," he murmured, looking up again. Sherlock seems to be getting more and more handsome by the minute. He reached out and stroked his cheek lightly.

Sherlock smiled genuinely. This guy was really quite cute and in a weird way, Sherlock was really glad to have done this, it did feel kind of special. At least different than other times. He gave John a kiss and then rolled flat on his back, scratching his arm a little. He glanced over at the clock. It was quite early for him, but he realised he was done for the night. He turned back over to face John and said, "So you conquered something new tonight, right? This means you'll have no problem facing whatever challenges you find in the army."

John smiled. "I will just think of you," he said. "I'm sorry I freaked out like that. I really did like it -- everything."

Sherlock smiled back. "You were fine, better than fine, lovely. Trust me, I've seen much worse from men with lots of experience. I'm just glad you got to do what you wanted to do," he said.


	3. Goodbye

Sherlock sat himself up on the bed a little. "Look, I've enjoyed being with you -- I don't know, it's odd and all, but I have really enjoyed it and if things were different, I think I'd even like to see you again, you know, outside of work. You're just different, I guess. I don't know." He swallowed and scratched his arm. "I know you've got an early start in the morning -- we can stay here a bit longer if you like, but . . . this is . . . " his voice trailed off. It was stupid really, feeling awkward, he didn't know what his problem was. "But could I still get the money? I just . . . really need it."

It took a good two minutes for John to realise what he was saying. Only a few words stood out -- money, work. He was having a hard time breathing again as he sat up, feeling numb and a bit sick. "Money?" He whispered weakly. He pulled the covers up more. 

Sherlock watched John's reaction. All of a sudden, he realised. "I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said, "I'm sorry . . . I thought you . . . knew. I thought -- I meant what I said, though, I know you've got no reason to believe me now, I . . . you're different . . . but I also really need the money . . ."

"I don't understand. You're . . . you're an escort?" John asked softly. "You let me tell you . . . I told you I'd never." He started getting dressed, and as he tugged his trousers closer he pulled out his wallet. His hands shook lightly. "I don't have much."

"I'm sorry, John, don't . . . don't get upset. I thought you were, you know, coming to an expert for the first time, I'm sorry, I honestly thought you knew," Sherlock said. "But please," he reached over and grabbed John's hand, "please, don't go like this. We were talking . . . just stay and talk a little more. Please." Sherlock could hear his voice saying all these things and he thought that objectively it would seem rather ridiculous -- he hadn't ever cared about their feelings, he had never asked one to stay any longer than needed. But he meant it, even if he didn't understand why.

"I just wanted to pick up a bloke and . . . and have a good time. Do what all my friends did while I studied," he said quietly. He dropped his things and turned to face Sherlock. "I didn't expect to feel . . . so much. I didn't know that's what you were. I just -- I liked you."

"Well, I mean, that's what you did -- isn't it? Picked up a bloke and had a good time? All the money does is give you a guarantee . . ." he wasn't sure this strategy was helping. "Fuck, I don't know what to say to make you feel better . . ." Sherlock said. "I wish I could, I really do, I don't know why but I wanted . . . this to mean something to you. Forget about paying, I mean it, please -- but maybe, maybe you could just loan me twenty quid? I'll pay you back when you come home from the army. I promise. I just need the money but I don't want to ruin this," he said.

John picked up his wallet and took out everything in it, handing it to Sherlock. It felt dirty. "You're smart, Sherlock. You could do anything," he said, going back to fiddling with his clothes. He wasn't getting dressed, but he needed something to do. 

"I told you," Sherlock said, softly, "There are messes." He took twenty quid and left the rest of the money sitting on the bed. He watched John, knew he was judging Sherlock. "Look, I don't mean to be a prick about this, but you went out to pick up a stranger and fuck him, knowing you were leaving tomorrow and would never see him again. Don't romanticise it -- at least I'm more honest about what's going on." He wanted to get up but his clothes were on the other side of the bed.

John rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You're right," he said quietly. "I was going to fuck a stranger and I was going to leave tomorrow and not think about it again. But you . . .you were kind and thoughtful and careful and you . . .you made it seem like more than a one night stand. I know that's probably your job but . . . but I thought -- I felt more . . ." He stood up and moved away, pacing back and forth. "When we were talking in the bar I regretted enlisting because I wouldn't have the chance to see you tomorrow."

John wondered how many times Sherlock had heard this, heard that people had fallen in love with him. John wasn't in love, though. He was a virgin and that was a bigger deal than he thought. "I'm sorry. I just -- it's your life, of course, but you could be doing so much more . . ."

"You don't know the whole story, John," Sherlock said, softly, "but I'll get myself together at some point . . . look, you're just nervous about tomorrow, but you'll be fine. Like I said, you were great tonight, you'll be great in the army. I meant the things I said." He swallowed and scratched at his arm and added, "And besides, I will see you when you come home -- I have to, to pay you the money back." He tried to make a little smile.

John turned and looked at him, coming back to the bed. "Look. I don't know what's going to happen to me out there. I -- that's why I wanted to just live tonight," he said. "I want to see you again. That probably sounds stupid . . ."

"Then we will . . . I'll be all better when you get back and we can meet in a normal place in a normal way," Sherlock said. He reached over and held John's hand. 

"I didn't mean to imply . . . I honestly don't care what you do with your life. It just surprised me because I was all . . . sentimental. I'm sorry, Sherlock." He squeezed his hand, smiling lightly at him. "If you don't mind me asking, how much do you usually charge?"

"More than twenty quid," Sherlock said, smiling awkwardly again. "It just depends . . . on how much I need, how much I think I can get and . . . what happens, I guess." He didn't want to look at John -- he just said he didn't care, but clearly it kind of mattered. He'd probably never even met someone like Sherlock. "Look, I've just made bad choices and got myself into some trouble -- this isn't really who I am."

John lay down and got comfortable again. "Will you tell me?" he asked.

"It's just . . ." Sherlock said, "Well, people in my line of work -- why do they usually do it? What do they need the money for? You can figure it out if you try . . ." He turned his body and slipped his shirt on.

John reached out and touched his back lightly. "Please don't leave," he said quietly. He bit his lip and tried a different approach. "Come on, I could be dead next week," he teased lightly.

"I'm not -- and don't say that," Sherlock said. "I'll leave when you go." He slid back under the covers, he felt a little stupid having just a shirt on but he wanted to show John that he was staying. "Don't say that anyway," he repeated. 

"It worked," he smiled. "Tell me your story, Sherlock."

"There's no story, John. It's drugs, that's it," he stayed silent for a minute. "Whatever you're thinking you needn't it say it, I'm not unaware of my stupidity."

John shook his head. "You're not stupid. Smart people make stupid decisions all the time. One time I grew a mustache," he said, putting his finger under his nose and grinning.

Sherlock smiled and then shook his head. "It's not quite the same thing, is it?"

John put his hand down and his smile fell a bit. "Well, not exactly, no. But the point is you can move on if you want. You couldn't even tell about the mustache."

"Well, I will . . . at some point . . . it's just a bit harder than shaving your face," Sherlock said. It was easier to deal with this when he was with people who didn't give a fuck or who were also addicts. "I'll be all right. Just like you will be."

"I wish I had met you sooner," John said. "Or when I came home so I wouldn't have to leave you."

"I wonder how things would have been different," Sherlock said, almost wistfully. "I'd like to see you when you come back, John. I would." He looked up at the ceiling and rubbed his fingers softly on John's hand, wondering if either of them would feel the same tomorrow.

"So let's do it. My service is three years. We can pick a place to meet."

"John," Sherlock said, glancing at the clock, "It's after midnight now." He didn't say anything else.

"I don't care," John said. "I'll sleep on the bus." 

"Don't be daft," Sherlock said. "Come on, get dressed. We can share a cab."

John sighed and stood up again, getting his clothes together and getting dressed slowly. He was dreading his trip even more now.

It was silent, and it felt strange to Sherlock. He got dressed and then said, "Here, get your phone out. I'll give you my number. Then when you come back, if you want, you can reach me, yeah? No obligation though."

"Yeah," John nodded, getting his phone out of his trouser pocket. He typed in Sherlock's number and saved it, smiling up at him. He had a strange feeling in his gut like this was going to be the last time they saw each other. Like this was all some ruse to make them both feel better. 

Sherlock tidied up the table and put the light off. He opened the door for John. "Which way are you headed? Can we share a cab?"

John pushed the rest of the money into his hand. "I don't need it where I'm going anyways," he insisted. "I'm heading just outside of the city -- I have a little place."

"I'm staying in town, I'm afraid," Sherlock looked down. "I guess we'll say goodbye here, then." He reached over and held John's hands, lifting them to his mouth and kissing them. "It was good to meet you, John Watson."

John felt a stab of panic. He wanted to pull him close, to invite him home, to beg him to stop him from going. He swallowed hard and forced himself to speak. "It was good meeting you, too," he said quietly. 

"What time do you leave in the morning? Tell me and I'll think of you then," Sherlock said. He hadn't let go of John's hands yet.

"O six hundred hours," he said a bit bitterly. He held Sherlock's gaze and tried to smile lightly.

"I'll set my alarm," Sherlock said, smiling. "I will." He leaned in and kissed John's mouth softly. Then he slipped his hands onto John's cheeks and kissed him again, holding his face. He opened his eyes, still in the kiss, and smiled before pulling away.

John swore as his vision blurred and he looked away, covering his face. "I should go. I have to go because I'm getting weird."

"It's been a weird evening," Sherlock said. He touched John's arm. "I'll see you . . . soon, yeah?" He leaned in and kissed his cheek and turned and walked off. He knew where he needed to go and once he'd been, he headed to his flat. He got a glass of water, set his alarm for six, and then did what he usually did once he got some money in his hands: made his head foggy so he couldn't think. 

John watched him go as long as he could before heading home. He didn't even try to sleep, laying awake the whole night and thinking about every single detail that passed between them. It was the longest night of John's life. He turned the alarm off before it could actually go off and he took a long shower. He got to the base and boarded the bus, sitting alone in the back. He fiddled with his phone, thought about sending Sherlock a text but he chickened out. The terrible side of his brain bombarded him with terrible ideas -- Sherlock had given him a fake number, had gone out to meet someone after him, had gotten high and didn't even remember him -- and his sleep deprived brain was no match for it. He leaned on the window and closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus on the nicer things -- Sherlock assuring John that he was safe, his soft murmurs, the feel of his hands. He finally fell asleep, his mind too tired to even dream. 


	4. Two Years Later

John saw him from the second he walked onto the path in the park. He was _really_ not in the mood for a chat and he looked around for a different way he could take. But it was too late. He heard his name called and he ignored it the first time. The second time it was impossible. He turned around to see Mike jogging over to him.

"John! How are you?" he asked, clapping John's shoulder. John winced and stepped away from him. 

"I'm fine, Mike. How are you?"

"Great, great. I thought you weren't coming back until next year?" he said. He'd fallen into step with John as he was trying to ease away. 

"Well, things change," John said. "Are you still at Bart's?"

"Yeah, I'm heading there now. Come with me -- you should see the equipment they just got."

That was the last thing John wanted to do, but it seemed he had no choice. Mike did most of the talking as they walked to the hospital and John marveled at how much it had changed things. It had been a long time since he'd been there. When they walked into the lab there was a man bent over one of the microscopes, dressed in a nice looking suit. He ignored them as Mike showed John various things around the room. There was something familiar about the man but John couldn't place it.

Sherlock was finishing up when he heard someone come into the lab. He wasn't in the mood. He pushed the microscope away and tidied his stuff. He walked out past them, head down, saying "Excuse me," as he bumped in between the two men. He was halfway down the hall before he stopped. He ducked into a doorway and waited, watching the lab door. When the men came out, he recognised Mike but the angle was off for him to be able to see the other man. He quickly slid his head past the corner of the wall and saw him. Clearly.

The men shook hands and parted. Sherlock opened the door he was standing next to, stepped inside and then stepped out again as Mike was passing.

"Mike," he said, as he walked in line with him, "Sorry about that -- didn't know you needed the lab."

"Oh no, just showing someone around," Mike answered.

"New hire?" Sherlock asked.

"No, just an old friend, John Watson. We were at uni together. Just back from Afghanistan."

Sherlock tried to think, and then said, "Watson, you say? Interesting. Where's he live? I'm on a case involving a Watson, might be helpful on the slight chance they're related."

"He's just got a bedsit he said, above the Chinese on . . . .Sherwood Street, I think. What's the case about?"

"Mustn't say -- too early on," Sherlock said. He stopped and turned, mumbling a thanks and goodbye.

Sherlock headed out of the hospital and stopped in the news agents on the corner. Then he got a cab to Sherwood Street and went to the door next to the Chinese restaurant. And there it was: a mailbox with the name John Watson written above it. Sherlock took out an envelope and wrote "As promised" on the front. Then he stuck a twenty pound note in it, sealed it and dropped it into the mailbox. He turned before he could change his mind and headed home to Baker Street.

John came home still thinking about the man in the lab. He was trying to place his face, figure out where he knew him from. After the war, there were so many faces now in his head to scan through. He grabbed the post and dropped it onto his desk, moving into the kitchen to make tea. He sat at the table and started looking through the letters. He was just about to take a sip when he saw it. _As promised._ He put his mug down and opened the letter, a small sound leaving his throat when he saw the twenty pounds. "Sherlock," he murmured, putting the money on the table.

He fished out his phone to find the number, kept after all this time. He stared at it for a long time before clicking on his name.

_I'm home. -JW_

Sherlock had just sat down for a cup of tea when he heard his phone. He opened it and smiled.

_I'm glad. And clean. SH_

_That's good to hear, Sherlock. -JW_

Sherlock set his phone down, wondering if they should just leave it there. Two years was a long time -- John would no longer be that shy boy he had met in a bar. There'd been no contact between them: Sherlock had thought of him, thought fondly of him, especially the day he had called Mycroft and admitted he needed help. Strange how a few hours with John had changed him. But that was long ago and Sherlock had changed and John would have changed and perhaps it was all just best left in the past.

Yet . . .

He picked up his phone.

_I'm in a new line of work[ **http://www.thescienceofdeduction.co.uk**](http://www.thescienceofdeduction.co.uk) Just in case you need something deduced. Take care, John Watson. SH_

After everything he'd been through and everything he'd seen, John was still so sentimental. It had been two years -- he didn't even recognise him today -- and the message still hit him like a ton of bricks. He allowed himself a few minutes of panic, several texts he knew he'd regret if he sent them, and then five more minutes of trying to think rationally.

He'd been stupid to believe whispered promises after sex would mean anything, especially after so long. Sherlock had done his job, John had changed so much from that night, what exactly was he hoping for now?

_Take care, Sherlock. -JW_

Sherlock set his phone aside. He was glad John was safe, he was glad to have seen him. There wasn't much about that time of his life that Sherlock could remember, but he did remember John and his first time and just how . . . sweet John had been.

Sherlock realised that even now, now that he was clean and had a whole new life, he hadn't left any space for sweetness. It felt too tempting . . . too much like losing control. There was a bit of sentiment, he supposed, for his landlady Mrs Hudson, but she knew him, knew not to push him into showing it. Otherwise, his life was mostly his work and seeking the rush of solving the case.

He opened his laptop and read a few notes from Lestrade. Sherlock could feel the pieces of this latest case falling together -- they just weren't there yet. He made himself another cup of tea. He knew he wouldn't sleep until he sorted it, but he also knew he would sort it.

John tried his best to put Sherlock out of his mind after that. Some days that was easy to do, but only because he was being mentally attacked by terrible nightmares and flashbacks and he could hardly think about anything else. He started seeing a therapist, who despite his doubts of that actually working, was actually helping him get his thoughts a bit more under his control. He was still having nightmares but he could at least walk down a noisy street now without having a panic attack. He needed a hobby, she had told him. Something to distract his mind, to give him something to put his energy into so he wasn't thinking about the war all the time. 

He also started going to physical therapy, working on getting proper movement in his shoulder. It was healed, scarred, it hardly hurt any more, but it was just a little bit stiff and he felt weaker because of that. He wanted to fix it. That was where he met Robert. Robert was there with his mother who had just had knee surgery. He thought about Sherlock then, for a moment, but that passed quickly as they continued talking. And next thing he knew they had a date planned. Dating was a hobby -- something else to think about. Ella approved, in any case, and John found himself now on a proper date, telling Robert about medical school instead of the war like he'd asked. 


	5. They Meet Again

Needless to say, Sherlock did solve the case and continued to solve each case that got passed his way. To be fair, most did come via Lestrade -- his inability to see things that were right in front of his eyes irritated Sherlock but did lead to him getting work. His website, well, it didn't. Only a few cases trickled in and most were boring and easily dealt with. But he took them -- not because he needed the money, but because he needed to have something to do. Sherlock with nothing to do was not a pleasant experience for anyone, including himself.

Sherlock was now on his way to meet Mycroft for dinner. He was a bit worried that this wouldn't be good -- anytime he summoned him, it was potential trouble -- but this time it was in public and in a little restaurant near Baker Street. Neither of these details boded well. He stood outside finishing his cigarette when he looked up and noticed John sitting inside. He was at a table with a man, and it was clear it was a date.

Something about seeing him made a little rush of panic fill Sherlock's head, even though he didn't know why. He got out his phone.

_Delayed. Can you just stop by the flat? SH_

He glanced up again at John. This was so stupid -- he didn't even know the man. One night over two years ago, that was it and that was . . . work anyway, right? They hadn't been in touch since Sherlock had returned the loan -- he'd continued with his life and John had done the same. Why wouldn't they? What did it matter that John was now here in the same restaurant on a date with someone? He'd probably had many dates since then. He was handsome and good, Sherlock had said John would have suitors and he was sure he'd had them. And Sherlock himself -- there were other clients after John, he couldn't remember them, but there were others until he got clean. One night shouldn't mean anything to either of them.

His phone vibrated in his hand.

_You do realise I see you standing outside right now, yes? Come inside and stop being a child. MH_

God, Sherlock hated Mycroft sometimes. He looked up and through the window he saw Mycroft at a table in the back, glaring at him. He'd have to pass John's table to get there. He was pretty sure John hadn't seen him yet -- he seemed engrossed in whatever this apparently fascinating man was talking to him about -- but he would have to pass right by him on his way back. He opened the door to the restaurant.

He kept his face forward but saw John notice him as he headed towards their table. "John Watson," he said quietly, nodding as he passed. He slinked into the chair across from Mycroft.

"Have you left your super sleuth skills at home this evening, brother? That certainly wasn't very clever," Mycroft said, looking down at the menu.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked, sulking.

"A glass of wine," he said, looking up to catch a server's eye.

"John? Are you all right?" Robert asked, glancing at Sherlock and then back to John. 

John had stopped talking suddenly, eyes fixed on the table. It turned out it was very easy ignoring Sherlock when Sherlock wasn't actually there. And now his brain was replaying that night, but only certain things, the same things over and over -- the soft touches, his quiet voice, his reassuring voice. _I'll take care of you._

"John?" 

John looked up at Robert, taking money out of his wallet -- but not the twenty, which he kept in a special pocket. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

"Wait -- who is that? What's wrong?" 

"Nothing -- you can come with me if you want but I can't stay here," he said. He didn't know why he'd offered that because, really, he wanted to be alone. 

"Well, okay. I can walk you back home," he said. 

John nodded and stood up, leaving the money on the table. He glanced at Sherlock and offered a small smile -- like something exchanged by acquaintances before they left.

"Your friend is leaving," Mycroft said, taking a sip of wine and crinkling his face at it.

"What friend?" Sherlock said.

"The one you spoke to when you came in -- come now, Sherlock, did you forget to whom you're speaking or do you think you're the only Holmes man who observes?" Mycroft said.

"He's not a friend," Sherlock said softly.

"I don't know what that means and frankly, I don't care," Mycroft said. "Put the menu away, we're not ordering. I'll keep this quick. I did not see your test results on my desk this morning. Is there a problem?"  
  
"No problem," Sherlock said, wishing he could look him in the eye but he couldn't. "Everything's fine, I've just been busy."  
  
"You are never to be too busy for that," Mycroft said. "Do you understand me?"

Sherlock looked up now, like a puppy. "I understand," he said. "I'll go tomorrow."

"I presumed you would. And again on Monday because that was the arrangement: every Monday and _both_ tests. I care, you know," Mycroft said, already beginning to pack up his things.

"You don't -- you just want leverage," Sherlock said.

"Regardless. We had an arrangement and I don't appreciate your thinking it didn't matter. It does matter, it matters until I say differently. Tomorrow and again on Monday." He stood up and left.

The server returned to the table and handed Sherlock the bill.

He walked home. He hated Mycroft's control. Sherlock knew the drugs test was not a bad idea; he'd never confess it but on the occasions he'd been bored and tempted, the threat of the test had kept him from making a poor decision. But the other test -- he was clean and they both knew it. It was like Mycroft just wanted information on that part of his life, which shouldn't be any of his business but somehow Sherlock had allowed it to become that way.

He didn't even bother with a cup of tea. He went straight to bed. He lay, staring at the ceiling. He wondered if John was with that man right now. He turned over on his side, he closed his eyes and he could remember lying next to John on the hotel bed. He was the only one Sherlock could remember. He remembered John's voice, his body, his face when he came. He didn't think of the other things -- the surprise, the hurt when John found out the truth about Sherlock. He just remembered the sweetness about John.

Sherlock slid his hand under the sheet and began to slowly stroke himself. It'd been a long time since he'd done this. He thought maybe he should stop. But it was too late, he was hard now and remembering John. His hand squeezed around himself, tight, like John had felt. He pumped his hand and remembered John until he came. Then he leaned over for his t-shirt, cleaned himself up and fell to sleep.

John denied Robert coming up to his flat, promising to call him later but knowing that he wouldn't. He went to bed with his phone, his phone open to the last texts between Sherlock and himself. _Take care, John Watson._ He sighed and lay on his back. He wanted to text him. To ask him if he was on a date tonight as well, if he was into dating now, if he had a free night to meet. He pushed the phone off of the bed to avoid temptation. Sherlock didn't want to see him. Sherlock had very obviously closed communication between them. One night two years ago meant nothing to anyone. Except to John. _I'll take care of you._ John closed his eyes and sighed. "Not anymore," he mumbled. It took his a long time to fall asleep, images of the war assaulting him and waking him much earlier than he would have liked.

Sherlock woke up when it was still dark -- unsurprising since he had fallen asleep so early. He got up to get some water and grabbed his clothes, but then remembered what he had used his t-shirt for. He threw it into the bin and slipped on his dressing gown. He went to the toilet and decided on tea instead. As he waited for it to boil, he opened his phone and searched through his messages to find John's. Would John be waking up next to that man in his bed this morning? Sherlock had never woken up next to John. He'd never woken to anyone in his bed.

It didn't matter, he told himself, closing his phone and then pouring the tea. He got his laptop and went back to bed.

He checked his email and website -- nothing new. He opened a new post and started typing.

**____________**

**_A Case of Identity_ **

_A new case. A man is looking for someone he knew briefly a little over two years ago. I don't understand all the details yet; a small amount of money was exchanged but it seems to involve more than that. The man's motivation is not obvious -- even to the man himself. Yet he still feels compelled . . . as do I, which is why I took the case. Will update as clues become clearer . . ._

____________

He hit post, without thinking. No one read his blog, what did it matter? It helped to have it in words. He would pretend it was a case: he would approach his own motivation as he would a client's. What did he really want?

John woke in the middle of a panic attack. He needed to calm down -- he needed a distraction. But he didn't have anything to take his mind away from the death and the screaming. He fished for his phone and when the screen lit up he saw it was still opened to Sherlock's messages. No. He needed a healthy distraction. His eyes fell on the link to the website. He never clicked on it -- well, it was better than texting Sherlock. He clicked on it and scrolled through, focusing on that and forcing his mind to read every word and take each one in. And then he saw it. His panic attack left him as suddenly as if a switched was flicked off in his brain. The newest post was . . .well, there was just no way that wasn't about the two of them. Was he talking about John or himself? It must be himself. He closed out of the site and called Mike. 

"Hello?" Mike's voice was groggy and John swore when he realised how early it was. 

"Mike? It's John -- I'm sorry for calling so early." 

"It's fine -- I have to go into the lab today anyways." John wondered if that was really true or not, but he decided to accept it. 

"Could you get that guy, um, Sherlock to the lab again? Today?" He wanted to see him, maybe get a bit of small talk out of him. He had no idea what his plan was -- no idea where he wanted this to go or what would happen, but he seemed to have reached his limit for rational thought when it came to Sherlock.

"Uh, sure, yeah." There was some rustling as if Mike had decided to actually get out of bed. 

"I'm sorry again, Mike. I appreciate it."

"Sure, John. I'll text you."

"Thank you." John got himself off of the floor and went into the shower, playing out every possible thing that could happen when he saw Sherlock in the lab today. If he came -- if they even spoke.  

Sherlock finished his tea and thought about his day. He had to deal with the tests, but he wanted something else to do. He wished he'd hear from Lestrade, but he wouldn't lower himself to go fishing with him. Then his phone vibrated.

_Sherlock, it's Mike. Could I get you to the lab some time today? Just a quick question._

_Will be at the hospital at 9. Shall I see you in the lab at 9.30? SH_

_Perfect_.

Well, it was something. And something sometimes led to something else. Sherlock got up and showered. He headed out.

The woman at the clinic smiled. "We missed you last week," she said.

Sherlock said nothing. Was _everyone_ working for Mycroft? He sat down in the chair next to her. She got up and washed her hands before preparing to take Sherlock's blood. Sherlock watched closely; he liked it, it was kind of remembering, a safe kind of remembering. She pressed the tape against his arm and he stood up quickly, trying to catch a second of dizziness, which he did and cherished.

"Sit down, fifteen minutes, you know that. Until you start taking care of yourself properly, you're not allowed to leave until I say," she said.

"I went to bed before midnight," he said, pouting like a child.

"And did you eat something this morning?"

Sherlock said nothing.

"So sit. We'll send the results to Mr Holmes' office. And we'll see you next week?" she said.

Sherlock said nothing.

She washed her hands again and took the tubes out of the room. Fifteen minutes later she returned.

"Stand up . . . slowly," she instructed.

Sherlock did as he was told. "Fine, see? I'm fine," he said, still pouting.

"See you on Monday," she said, letting him leave.

In the lift, he saw Molly.

"I haven't seen you in a while," she said, smiling.

"For fuck's sake, I only missed one week," he said angrily.

Molly frowned. "I meant in the morgue or lab . . . I'm sorry." She turned around and faced the door.

Sherlock knew he'd made a mistake, but he didn't apologise. Then he sighed loudly. "Find me something to work on, Molly," he asked quietly.

"I thought you had something new, the identity case," she said as the doors opened. She stepped out and walked away. The doors closed.

Sherlock smiled. Molly read his blog. She never let him down. The doors opened again, and Sherlock walked into the empty lab and waited.

_He'll be at the lab at 9.30, John, but I can't get there until ten. Are you going to be there or are you going to wait for me? Mike_

_I'll go. -JW_

John put his phone in his pocket and headed for the hospital. He had absolutely no plan at all. Nothing. When he arrived he stood outside of the lab for almost ten minutes before pushing the door open and looking inside. Sherlock was sitting by the microscope alone. He looked up and their eyes met. "I-I was looking for Mike," he said quickly. "Have you seen him?"

Sherlock inhaled quickly at John's presence. For a moment, he forgot how to speak. He looked at the floor until he remembered how to make words and hoped that the right words would come out.

"No, I'm supposed to be meeting him. But he's not here," he said. He looked around the room. "Obviously," he added, trying to lighten the air around him which suddenly seemed so heavy.

"Oh. Okay. I will wait out here then," he said, slipping back out. _Very smooth, John._ He sighed and covered his face. This was such a stupid idea. It wasn't even a proper idea. He turned and headed down the hall again. He was sure to meet Mike on his way out and explain. Maybe he would buy him a coffee for getting him up so early for no reason. He really needed to get a hobby.

As he passed the outpatient clinic he paused. It was packed, and the women running the desk looked very put out. A hobby. A part time job could be a hobby. He went inside looking for someone to speak to about getting a job. 

Sherlock stood silently for a few minutes. What had just happened? He wasn't sure, but . . . he didn't like it.

"Think," he said aloud to himself. He closed his eyes for a moment. Think of it like a case, he said inside his head. You're a client. What do you want? Why do you want to find this man? A few pictures flashed through his head. Some were of John, but not all of them were -- why? why were those pictures connected to John?

He couldn't think now, he had to act. Too much time was passing. He got out his phone and clicked on John's name.

_221B Baker Street. 10.30. SH_

He hit Send. It was John. He didn't understand anything else about this yet, but he knew it was John. It was all about John. He headed home.


	6. It's All About John

John left the clinic feeling very good about the job. It was just a few days a week, enough to keep him busy and distracted. He pulled out his phone to call Mike but stopped walking, staring at his phone. He had a text from Sherlock. He looked back up at the hospital. Did he know John had lured him there? Was he angry? John opened the message. Oh. Well that could mean anything. He checked the time and hailed a cab, giving the address from the text. He wanted to answer back, but everything he typed sounded terrible. He stuffed it into his pocket.

When he arrived he paid the driver and looked up at the flat before knocking. The door opened and his stomach flipped wildly, but there was an older woman that answered the door. "Hello," she smiled. "Are you here to look at the room?"

"Wha--um, no. I'm here to see Sherlock? Um, Sherlock Holmes?" 

"Oh! Yes, this way," she said, moving to the stairs. "Sherlock!" 

Sherlock had just added an update to his earlier post.

**____________ **

**_A Case of Identity_ **

_A new case. A man is looking for someone he knew briefly a little over two years ago. I don't understand all the details yet; a small amount of money was exchanged but it seems to involve more than that. The man's motivation is not obvious -- even to the man himself. Yet he still feels compelled . . . as do I, which is why I took the case. Will update as clues become clearer . . ._

_Update: A meeting has been arranged. Questions to be asked._

__________

He heard Mrs Hudson's voice and glanced up at the clock. "Send him up," he called to Mrs Hudson. He stood up and opened the door. He saw Mrs Hudson look up, and he nodded to her to let her know everything was all right. And then he saw John. He watched him climb his stairs and then stepped back so John would come in. He shut the door behind them and leaned against it.

"What are you doing to me, John Watson?" he asked, looking straight at him.

John held his gaze and shrugged. "I'm not doing anything to you. Why did you write about me like a case on your website?" 

John read his blog. But he couldn't smile now, he was on a case. "I'll ask the questions. Are you saying you are not trying to get inside my head?"

John raised his brows and smiled. "Get inside your head?" John shook his head. "No. I'm just trying to figure out why you told me to 'take care' and then wrote about your growing interest in me." 

"They aren't mutually exclusive acts," Sherlock said, moving to the kitchen to turn on the kettle. "But back to my question, if you're not trying to get inside my head, do you have an explanation for why you are in fact inside my head?" He got two mugs from the cupboard and stared down at them. "Be as precise as you can be, please, it'll save time."

"I don't know, Sherlock. I thought we were going to meet up when I got back -- you just snuck money into my mailbox and told me to take care." He moved to the kitchen door and watched Sherlock making tea. "I know it was stupid to believe everything you said that night but . . . well, I was looking forward to seeing you," he admitted. 

"That doesn't answer my question, but I'll address it. No," Sherlock said it like a full sentence. "No, John Watson. Did I or did I not get in touch with you the moment I knew you were back? I did. So do not pretend that anything I did inhibited you from contacting me further. I naturally assumed too much time had passed . . . your social calendar too busy. That was all entirely logical." He poured the tea and walked over to hand a mug to John. He moved to his chair in the sitting room and motioned for John to sit as well. "But back to my question, is this a trick you learned in the army then? To get into my head? That's the bit that's not logical. That's the bit I'm investigating."

"Sherlock -- there's no trick. And telling someone to 'take care' is pretty much screaming of 'this is the last time we're going to talk'." John sat down and looked over at him. "It has been a long time and it's obvious things have changed," he shrugged. 

"Don't do that," Sherlock said, his voice slipping. He took a sip of tea to give himself a moment to collect himself. He looked straight at John and said, "And the first thing you did upon arrival on British soil again was to try to find me again?" He watched John's eyes drop. "Don't pretend, John. Neither one of us is the same as we were that night. Don't put it all on me."

"I couldn't right away," John said. "I needed to find a place to live, take care of a few things. I didn't know where you were or how to find you. And I realise that the same is true for you about me, but you were the one that told me to take care," he said.

"Stop it," Sherlock said angrily. "Taking care? Taking care -- it's such a hostile thing to wish for? For fuck's sake, I didn't know anything about your life. I didn't know if you'd really want to see an addict who took your money, why would you? I just wanted . . . you to take care. And if I recall, you said the same thing back to me. I thought it was a kindness, I see my interpretation was all wrong." He turned his body in his chair. "You can go if you want. You can go back to your new life now, your new boyfriend, everything. We've seen each other again, like we said we would. You can leave again if you want."

John slammed the mug down and stood up, and he really was so close to storming out of there. "You're such a bloody idiot, Sherlock. So stupid. Is that all you remember from that night? The sex? The money I gave you for it? I shared my fears with you, my first time, I listened to your story and I wanted . . .I wanted _you._ You're the one that snuck the money back--didn't even have the decency to actually meet me . . ." He was pacing and balling his fists tightly. He knew it was too much, but he was so angry and hurt he hardly knew what he was saying. 

Sherlock stood up as well. "Right, I'm going to call you and ask you out?" He held his hand up next to his head, "Hi John. It's the whore you fucked the night before you left. Shall we go on a date now that you're home to your respectable life? Perhaps you could take me out with medical school friends, we could have a laugh with them about how I took your money so I could shoot up after you left?" He dropped his hand and sat down again. "Be realistic. This isn't about my not wanting to see you. I'm the one with you in my head. Think about it from another perspective: you're the one who had my number and you didn't call. Don't pretend it was because I said take care. I mean, why would you want to hear from me?"

"Because I -- " John cut off very suddenly and took a deep breath to get himself together. "Because I told you that stuff didn't matter to me." He licked his lips and looked around the flat. "I was shot. I almost died. And I wasn't thinking about my family or my work -- I thought about you. I thought about how you weren't going to know what happened and you were going to think that I lied. That I never came to find you again like I promised. I was brought into the country and taken to the hospital. I didn't have a flat anymore, my family was dealing with my sister's drinking and divorce . . .so no. I didn't call you right away because there was nothing respectable about the way I came back. I'm broken -- nightmares, therapy, scars. I have your number saved . . .I had told you three years so I wanted to fix myself up a bit. And then you were at the lab." 

His anger had faded out of his words and he knew he sounded pathetic now. "Look. I'll leave if you want me to. But don't you dare think it's because the only thing I wanted from you was that night."  

Sherlock sat quietly for a bit, trying to find the answers. It was silent for a while. "You're inside my head, John Watson," he finally said. He swallowed. "No one else. Just you." He didn't move for a few minutes. Then he stood up and walked over to John. "What do I want from you?" he asked him.

John gazed back at him. "I don't know what you want from me. I want . . ." He sighed. "I see you again . . . take you out properly. I want to know what you did while I was gone. I want to come back here after our date. I want to kiss you and touch you -- and not be a trembling mess this time." He smiled softly, reaching out to take his hand.

Sherlock swallowed and stepped back. He wasn't sure how to be -- there'd been no one, not one since before . . . he didn't know how to be, how to do things this way. This conversation had been a start to his understanding what was going on, but he still wasn't entirely clear.

He took another step away, dropping John's hand. He said, "All right. Tonight. There's an Italian, a few streets over, Angelo's. At eight o'clock. Does that work? Is it a date?" He didn't know whether or not to sit down, so he just turned his body a little.

John tilted his head and let his hand drop beside him slowly. "Yeah. That sounds perfect," he said. "Should I just meet you there then?" 

"Yes," Sherlock said, turning to look at him. "But . . . text if you change your mind. Otherwise, I'll see you then." He walked towards him and . . . quick, Sherlock he told himself, think . . . he touched the top of John's shoulder lightly. "Is this shoulder where you were shot?" he asked.

John moved it out of his touch, picturing the scar there. "Yes," John nodded. He brought his hand up and rubbed the spot lightly. "Here." 

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said and without thinking, he pressed a soft kiss onto John's shirt over the scar. Then he stopped himself and said, "So I'll see you later, then?" He moved over to his desk.

John closed his eyes at the kiss, watching Sherlock walk away from him again. "Yes," he said a bit quieter. "I'll see you later." He turned around and left, rubbing his shoulder again as he got a cab to his own flat. He made some tea but only drank half, falling asleep on the sofa. When he woke up he got into the shower, his stomach flipping and swooping with nerves and happiness about the date tonight. When he got out he looked at his scar in the mirror, grazing his fingers over it. 

He went to his room and looked through his clothes, taking much too long picking something to wear. When it was close to the time he got a cab and looked through the window of the restaurant. 

_I'm waiting outside for you. -JW_

Sherlock walked up to John just as his phone vibrated. "I'm here," Sherlock said and smiled. "I'm glad you didn't change your mind." He opened the door for John and they took a table in the front.

Once they were sitting down, Sherlock said, "I will confess I'm nervous, John. I've not been on a date in . . . ever, actually."

John smiled. "Well, now I've got you," he said. "It's mostly talking -- getting to know each other." 

"Well, what do you want to talk about?" Sherlock asked. He was really quite out of his comfort zone. He got Angelo's attention, introducing him to John and then ordering a bottle of wine.

"You," John smiled. "I want to know what you did after I left."

"I went to a kind of rehab, I suppose," Sherlock said. "Well, not really, just a forced isolation. I was sent away for a few months and when I returned, everything was different."

"What made you decide to stop?" John asked, sipping at his wine. 

"I told you I would," Sherlock said. "And so I did."

John's mouth fell open lightly before smiling softly. "Just like I said I would come back. I'm really glad you stopped the drugs," he admitted. 

"Yes, well, I have now," Sherlock said. "And you? Was the army the right choice despite the . . ."

John nodded. "Well, at the moment there are more consequences than I would like, but I did learn a lot of good skills," he said. 

"Well, if I know you, and I suppose I don't really, you'll conquer anything you're faced with. And being with only men -- did you like that?" he smiled a little. He put down his wine glass and poured some water into it. He was right at an edge that he knew not to cross over.

John flushed lightly and smiled. "They were a bit more open than I expected. But I didn't…" he trailed off and shrugged. He had accepted and given blow jobs but never had sex with any of them. 

"You don't have to say anything else . . . in fact, I'd prefer that you didn't," Sherlock said. That topic stepped on any slight buzz Sherlock had been developing. He didn't want to think about John with someone else. It felt like he'd been quiet too long. "I don't know what else to say now. I don't think I'm very good with conversation."

"You're doing fine. Tell me about your work -- what are you doing now?" John asked, starting on his meal. 

"Mainly I just help the police when they seem unable to figure out what's happened. You would be very surprised how stupid the police can be. And you've seen my blog -- I get a few cases from there," Sherlock said. "But not many." He took a small sip of his watered-down wine. "It just kind of happened. I solved a crime for the guy who'd arrested me and when I got clean, he called again for help. And that's how I found my new career, I guessed you'd say."

John smiled. "Well, that's really great, Sherlock. It sounds interesting and exciting. According to my therapist I need a hobby. I could run a website for you -- for cases," he suggested. 

"That might work -- I confess I don't draw much traffic at the moment, which is odd as it's full of interesting information," Sherlock said. "Can I ask you something personal?" he swallowed the rest of his wine and poured in just a little more. "Did you think about . . . it, while you were away? I mean, that's what you wanted, to have something to think about. Did you?"

"Every night, Sherlock. Every night I couldn't sleep, every night I was scared -- " He cut off and looked down, mixing his food. "Not the things you would think, though," he continued, smiling lightly.

"I'm not an idiot, John," Sherlock said. "I know what you're talking about." He took another sip of wine. "But . . . did you ever think about those things as well?"

John nodded. "Of course I did," he said.

"I have, too," Sherlock admitted. "In fact, I thought about them last night."  
  
John smiled at him. "Did you?"

"Don't laugh at me," Sherlock said, blushing. "That's not really a part of my life anymore. But I decided to think about it last night. It's not against the law, you know."

"Laugh at you? No, I'm not. I just told you I thought about it, too. You think it was just to romanticize?" he asked, flushing lightly. 

"Probably, I don't know," Sherlock said, "like I said, I don't think of any of that anymore. Except you, I guess . . . on occasion." He finished his wine and then turned the glass upside down on his napkin. He leaned forward and said in a hushed voice, "Close your eyes for a minute, John. Close your eyes and think of it. Just for a minute."

John held Sherlock's gaze -- it was gorgeous -- and then he closed his eyes. At first he thought about the same things he always thought about, Sherlock's soft touches, his soft murmurs and reassurances. And then thought about the kisses, and the harder touches, and his fingers going into his body.

John opened his eyes and met Sherlock's again, his cheeks flushing darker. "I can't here," he murmured, shifting in his seat a bit. 

"Then let's go to mine," Sherlock said. He reached over and grabbed John's hand.


	7. Chapter 7

"It's not the wine, John, it's you. I want . . . I want to feel -- not feeling was how I got through everything before and now I know . . . it's _you_. You make me want to feel. Please, John." And it wasn't until that little unprepared speech came out of his mouth that Sherlock discovered what he wanted. It was sexual, but not just sexual. John had made him feel two years ago, and since seeing him last night, Sherlock realised that's what he wanted John to do again.

John nodded, taking Sherlock's hand and getting up from the table. He put some money down and tugged him out of the restaurant. He didn't even give Sherlock a chance to hail a cab before he leaned up and kissed him, wrapping his arms around his neck, humming as he tasted his mouth, slightly sweet from the wine.  

Sherlock melted into the kiss and then said, "Let's walk, I can't wait . . ." He pulled John by the hand back to his flat, straight through the door and into the bedroom. He pushed him down onto the bed and said, "I want to spend the next twenty four hours in this flat with you. I want us to do many things, everything. But what I want first is . . ." he started pulling off his own clothes before climbing onto the bed over John. He leaned over and kissed him and then slid his hand to palm John's cock. "I want you to fuck me."

John pushed into his hand and nodded, tearing at his own clothes. John climbed over him came down and sucked on Sherlock's neck, kissing and licking his way down Sherlock's chest. He sucked on his nipples, nipped lightly, and dragged his mouth and teeth lower to he belly. His hands were working on getting his own shirt off properly. 

Sherlock inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as he felt John's mouth on him. Then he leaned up a little and reached for the drawer. He pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom. "John, I've only got one condom but in the bottom drawer of that chest, I've got 75 sheets of lab results. I'm clean -- I was tested last week. If you are, too, I'm okay. You choose." He lay back on the bed, reaching down to tug on John's waistband.

"We're going to do it a lot more than once, Sherlock," John murmured against his stomach. He pulled Sherlock's pants off and sat up on his knees to get rid of the rest of his clothes. "We get checked in the army regularly, and I just had an appointment last month for my shoulder, full check up, all clean." He came down again and without another word sucked Sherlock into his mouth. He bobbed up and down, humming that he could finally taste him. He hollowed his cheeks, swallowing around him.  

"Fuck, John," Sherlock said, and he pushed his head back into the pillow. It was different -- everything was different. "Fingers, hurry," he moaned, pushing the lube down the bed. It all felt so urgent, needful.

John poured lube onto his fingers and rubbed Sherlock's entrance to coat it, bobbing the whole time. He came down on him, nose pressed to his groin as he pushed his finger into Sherlock. He pulled off with a small gasp, licking and kissing his balls as he pumped his finger. He sucked one into his mouth before adding the second finger, pulling off again to watch his fingers stretch Sherlock open.

"John, yes, this is what I want," Sherlock moaned, putting a hand up to his face and running it through his hair. He started to rock his hips against John's fingers. "Harder, more . . ." he begged.

John pushed in three fingers and pumped his hard faster, crawling up to kiss his hip and lower stomach. He used his free hand to spread lube onto his cock before pulling his fingers out and lining himself up. He pushed Sherlock's legs apart and up, guiding himself into Sherlock. He moved in slowly, biting his lip as he groaned at the feel of being inside of him. And then he pulled back, he leaned down to kiss Sherlock, and started to thrust into him hard, moaning and panting as he moved into Sherlock. 

Sherlock's leg kicked out a little, it was so much but so good. He pulled his legs up, almost to John's shoulders, he wanted to feel everything. "John, don't stop," he moaned into John's kiss, "please." He lifted his hands above his head again and grabbed onto the headboard, using it almost as resistance to John's thrusts.

John lifted his upper body to look down at him, holding his calves as he thrust harder into Sherlock's body. He was close already -- too consumed with lust to think about anything but coming inside of him. "Fucking hell," he panted heavily, moaning and half growling with the effort to pump into him. He slid one hand down and started to stroke Sherlock, his fist tight and moving quickly.  

"John," Sherlock called his name over and over again. He pushed down hard against him, squeezing his legs together, but then he realised he never wanted this feeling to stop -- it was better than drugs, better than solving a case. "John, wait, wait . . . slow down," he moaned softly. " . . . not yet."

John's wild thrusting slowed until he was just rolling his hips, slow and gentle. "I'm sorry," he breathed. "Are-are you okay?" he murmured, rubbing his thighs lightly. He'd gotten so carried away, so lost in the moment, he couldn't really say how hard he was actually going. He looked Sherlock up and down, hoping he wasn't hurt. 

"I'm more than okay, I don't want it to end," Sherlock said, reaching his hand down to John's head. "Is it too much? I just . . . want the connection. It feels good when you do it hard like that." Sherlock's face was red. "Should we keep going like this or do you want to do it a different way?"

John came down and rest his forehead on Sherlock's. "You have me for -- what did you say before? -- twenty four hours. We can do whatever you like." He rolled his hips the whole time he spoke, slow rhythmic thrusting. 

"I want you inside again," Sherlock said, rubbing his hands up and down John's back. "Do you want me like this or to change positions? You're in charge this time, you tell me."

John kissed his mouth, and then really kissed him hard. "I love looking at you, but I want to try flipping you around," he murmured. 

Sherlock turned and got up on his elbows and knees. He reached down and started to stroke himself slowly, anticipating John's touch.

John tugged his hips back a bit. "Spread your knees a bit more -- there," he murmured. He grabbed Sherlock and pushed into him again, keeping a steady rhythm. John pulled his hips back to match his own thrusts. "Oh God," he moaned, feeling as if he was sinking much deeper. 

"Fuck," Sherlock said, pressing his head into the pillow. Then he caught his breath and tried to push back against John, meeting the pressure. He was so deep, but Sherlock wanted so much. He stroked himself slowly to concentrate on John's movements.

John shifted, tried to angle himself to hit Sherlock's prostate. It was a bit harder this way but he rolled and thrust his hips, listening and watching Sherlock to see when he would hit it. 

"John, yes, god," Sherlock said. He reached his hand back just to be closer. He rolled his hips a bit, so with each thrust he felt everything. "Don't stop, John, don't stop," he pushed back and dropped his head.

John was getting consumed again. He gripped Sherlock's hand, holding that and his hips as he started moving faster and harder. "You feel so fucking good," he moaned loudly, really pushing into his body.

Sherlock started stroking himself with his other hand, hard and fast. "John," he called and he could feel every bit of his body fill with heat. He squeezed onto John's hand, pulling him almost, as if he could pull him further inside. He grunted with every one of John's thrusts, low and instinctual. There was nothing in his head except the feeling of John fucking him -- it would never be anyone but John again.

John shifted back a bit to give himself more leverage, pulling on Sherlock's hips desperately as he thrust into his body. He put everything into his movements -- the sadness of having to leave him behind, missing him while he was away, the anger of being blown off, the happiness of having him back. Sherlock had been his first and now he would be his only one. John whined softly and leaned over his back, pulling at Sherlock's shoulder to raise his body up a bit. "Kiss me," he moaned, and he found Sherlock's mouth as he turned his head, kissing him sloppily over his shoulder and he moved. 

"Wait, let me turn over," Sherlock moaned desperately. He pulled away from John and switched again. "I want to kiss you when you come into me," Sherlock moaned as he lifted his legs for John. He wrapped his hand tight around his own cock, knowing that the friction of John's movement would be enough.

John pushed back into him and crashed his lips against Sherlock's, kissing him desperately as he thrust into him. "M'so close," he murmured against Sherlock's lips, pressing kisses on the corner of his mouth and his cheeks. 

Sherlock squeezed his cock as the movement of John's stomach helped push him up to the edge. "Come, John," he moaned before he leaned up and greedily kissed his mouth again.

John pressed their mouths together, groaning and swearing into the kiss as he let go, pushing one final time into Sherlock and coming hard. He broke the kiss, burying his head in the crook of Sherlock's neck as he moaned and called out for him, his hips twitching with the force of it.

Sherlock wrapped one arm around John's back and with the other hand did his best to stroke himself, lifting his hips, feeling John still inside him. "Fuck, John," he moaned and then just grunted until he came against their bellies, melting into the bed.

In the haze of pleasure clouding his brain, John managed to pull out of Sherlock before properly collapsing over him. He knew he wouldn't be moving for a while. He panted against Sherlock's neck, opening and closing his mouth as he pulled himself together. "Christ," he breathed softly, wrapping his arms around Sherlock, his hands curling up to hold his shoulders. 

Sherlock squeezed his arms around John. "I'm . . . ," he panted into John's shoulder. He put his head back and took a few deep breaths. "It's like I've waited years for that."

John smiled lightly. "I've never felt anything so intense."

Sherlock reached down and kissed John hard. "Me neither . . . never," he said. He meant it. He looked over John's face and then his body and leaned in and kissed his scar softly.

John instinctively flinched but didn't pull away.

Sherlock kissed his mouth again, smiling. "Are we really going to make it twenty four hours?" he asked, fiddling with John's hair.

John chuckled softly and rolled off of him, laying on his side to face Sherlock. "With proper breaks, I think we'll be okay," he smiled. He admired his face, able to tell by his expression that he wasn't lying when he talked about the intensity. John felt a bit proud.

"Don't leave again, John," Sherlock said softly.

"I won't," John murmured. "I couldn't again." He reached out and grazed Sherlock's cheek, pushing his curls back a bit.

Sherlock pulled John against him again and squeezed. "I seem to have a problem this evening with getting you close enough to me, in a variety of ways apparently," he said, laughing a little.

John laughed softly and draped his arm around him so that he would have room to press his body against Sherlock. He tucked his head into the crook of his neck again. "I don't mind complying," he murmured.

Sherlock nestled against him. "Let's rest a little. We can get up and I'll show you the rest of the flat," he said.

"Okay," John murmured, closing his eyes. Everything was so soft and warn, he knew he was going to fall asleep but he couldn't make himself get up. "Just a bit," he said softly.

Sherlock shut off his brain and fell to sleep next to John. When he woke again a little later, everything in the world felt more rested, calmer. He looked over at John and mussed with hair until he woke up.

"You're the first person I've ever woken up next to," he said softly as John opened his eyes.


	8. The Start Of The Twenty Four Hours

Sherlock stood up and groaned a little. "Hmm . . . I definitely forgot about the consequences . . ." he grumbled as he straightened up and stretched a little. He got a pair of pajamas and put them on and then threw his dressing gown to John. "You can put this on if you want."

"I had to go to boot camp with consequences," John teased. He put the dressing gown on and followed Sherlock out of the room.

Sherlock smiled as he put the kettle on. "Well, let me show you around," he said. "We're in the kitchen, that was my bedroom, that little room with the bath is the bathroom, you've been in the sitting room and there's another small room up those stairs. Well, that's my flat then." He reached for two mugs and poured the water in. "I'd like to pretend it's normally tidier, but it's not. I can function with it messy like this, and I suppose that's all I need to do here."

"It's very lived in," John smiled, looking around the rooms he could see from here. "That's not a bad thing."

"Yes, well, I live in it so I guess that makes sense," Sherlock said. "I don't use the upstairs room, you could bring some things over and stay in it, if you want."

"Yeah," John smiled, crossing his arms. "That would be really nice but . . . will I really be using that room?" He smiled wider.

"Well, we'll see how you feel after our twenty four hours is up," Sherlock said, handing him his tea. "You might need an escape from me." He smiled and sat down. "But I am kind of serious -- Mrs Hudson, the landlady, wants me to rent it out . . . something about not always getting her rent on time seems to annoy her for god knows what reason . . . so just think about it. It could be helpful for the blog, you know, if you were really going to help with that. Or that might have just been a line you used to seduce me. Regardless, just think about it."

John rolled his eyes and laughed. "It wasn't a line -- I really do need a hobby. And my pension isn't much so I don't know how much help I can be with the rent. But I would like that -- maybe I could even help with the cases?"

"Maybe," Sherlock said. "They're sometimes dangerous . . . but maybe." He drank some more tea. "Perhaps we should have a bath?"

"I don't mind danger," John said, setting his mug on the counter. "A bath sounds really nice, actually. You should lead the way, I don't remember where the bathroom is," he grinned.

"Yes, I know, the place is quite complicated," he stood up and went in to turn on the bath. He came back out and walked over and pulled on John's hand. "Come on, lazy," he said. He led John into the bathroom. Sherlock got in first and sat down slowly. "Now you get in, but don't sit down yet."

John allowed himself to be pulled along, taking the robe off as he watched Sherlock climbing in. He was going to sit with his back to Sherlock, to lean against him, but when Sherlock told him not to sit yet be climbed in facing him. "Why can't I sit yet?" He smiled.

"Because I want to wash you and I need to see what I'm doing," Sherlock said. He reached for the soap and lathered his hands. He reached up and started washing John -- starting with his thighs and then between his legs and finally his cock. He stroked him up and down and then said, "Can you lean over and get me a wash cloth?" Sherlock asked, motioning to a shelf on the wall. 

John hummed softly as Sherlock's hands moved smoothly over his skin. He reached for the wash cloth and handed it to Sherlock. "Not that I'm complaining, but you didn't have to," he murmured. 

"Neither of us ever has to do anything now," Sherlock said. He dipped the cloth into the water and started rinsing John's body. He lifted the cloth to John's belly and squeezed it and let the water drip down. Then he leaned in and licked the water off his cock, before lifting one of his hands to hold it. He licked it up and down, kissing the sides and then sucking softly on the tip.

"Oh," John murmured. He felt unsteady on his feet, putting one hand into Sherlock's curls and the other against the wall.

"But is it all right?" Sherlock said, continuing to give attention to John's cock. He took more of him into his mouth, sucking harder. He lifted one of his hands to John's arse and squeezed, pushing him further down his throat. He came up for air and then swallowed again. He started bobbing his head, feeling his own cock start to stiffen in the warm water.

"Yes . . . it feels good," John moaned softly, looking down as Sherlock moved on his cock. He pet his hair, gently bucking into Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock lifted both hands to John's arse now, encouraging his movement. He occasionally came up for air, but could take John all the way in and liked the feeling of his going down his throat. He groaned loudly.

John moved with his hands, moaning and whimpering Sherlock's name. It felt so good, warm and wet. His free hand moved to grip the wall, anything to keep a bit steadier on his feet.

Sherlock lifted off and looked up at John. "Do you want to come like this?" he said, licking and sucking as he waited to hear John's answer.

"What did . . .you have in mind?" John asked softly, taking deep breaths to calm down a bit.

Sherlock said, "If you want to, you can and then we'll rinse off and go back to bed." He swallowed John's cock again and slid one hand between his legs, brushing over his hole.

"Yes," John moaned, going back to bucking lightly into his mouth. He gripped Sherlock's hair tighter.

Sherlock's hand on John's back pressed in to help him rock into his mouth. He made a hum around John's cock and bobbed his head. He softly pressed his finger into John's hole to massage his prostate. Sherlock could feel his own cock moving against himself in the water.

"Sherlock -- oh God," John came before he could warn Sherlock, gripping his hair and twitching with his orgasm.

Sherlock pressed John into his throat as he came and stayed as long as he could before he pulled up for air. He slipped his hands from John and wiped his mouth on his arm. Instinctively one hand went to his own cock and he started slowly stroking it. "Sit down now and rinse off," he said, "I need us to go back to bed so you can take care of this."

John leaned down and kissed the top of Sherlock's head, then his forehead, and finally his mouth as he sank into the water. It sloshed a bit over as he rinsed off, standing and holding his hand out to Sherlock. "Come on, then. Can't just leave you like that," John smiled.

Sherlock stood up and wrapped a towel around himself, threw one to John and then practically dragged him back to the bedroom. He reached for the lube and quickly starting slicking himself. "You . . . on top, okay?" he said smiling. 

John nodded, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's hand as it moved over his cock. "Let me have some so I can open up a bit," he said, reaching for the bottle.

"Get over me and I'll help," Sherlock said, reaching to touch John.

John climbed into his lap, straddled his legs, and put one hand on the headboard. He reached the other behind him and started to push his fingers into himself. "I'm getting hard again," he murmured.   
  
Sherlock pulled on John's wrist and moved it to John's cock. "You work on this, I'll take care of the rest," he said softly. He slid down on the bed so it was easier to reach and pushed two slick fingers inside John. He started pumping them, reaching down with his other hand to stroke himself. He made a little moan at the sight of John rubbing himself as Sherlock's fingers went inside. "I remember when I did this the first time, you felt so good then," he said, "but it's even better now." He separated his fingers a little, stretching John.

"That first . . . first time you . . .it was perfect," he panted softly. He could feel the stretch, pushing down on his hand. "I want you now, Sherlock."

Sherlock slipped his fingers from John and scooted back up the bed. "Do as I say, John, I want you to move nice and slow," he said softly, lining himself up and then using one hand to grip John's thigh. "Slow now," he said again, already breathy in anticipation.

John sank down onto Sherlock, and despite his need to be filled, he moved agonisingly slow, swearing and moaning the whole time.

Sherlock put his hands on John's hips now and encouraged him to roll them. "Like this," Sherlock said, "not up and down, like this, so we can . . . feel everything. Slowly." He was moaning now, watching John move on top of him. "Fuck, yes, John, that's good," he said.

"God," John whimpered, dropping his forehead to Sherlock's as he moved. Sherlock's directions were turning him on even more, the quiet praises, his hands guiding. "I-I feel you so deep," he moaned, rolling his hips slow and deliberate.

"It's good, John, you feel so good -- even better than I remembered," Sherlock moaned, leaning up to kiss John's mouth. Sherlock started to rock his hips against John -- the pressure was just so good. "Touch yourself," Sherlock said, "I want to watch you, but go slow. Make everything slow until we can't take it anymore."

John brought his hand to his cock and gripped hard, but when he stroked it was slow, really pulling on himself.

Sherlock watched John's hand and then watched his face. The way John was rocking was filling Sherlock's entire body with heat. He kept one hand gripped tightly to John's hip but used his other one to stroke lightly over John's belly and thigh. "I thought of you," Sherlock said in between soft groans. "Not long afterwards, I lay in bed and thought of you . . . no one else ever . . . I remembered the feeling and your face, I'd memorised it . . . " He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering . . . remembering John and now he didn't need to remember because it was happening again.

John whimpered softly, keeping his slow rocking but doing it harder, pressing harder against him. "I never forgot . . . late at night I thought . . .I imagined you laying with me," he murmured. "I wanted to wake up with you there."

Sherlock wanted to ask John to stay, to wake up beside him every day, but it was all still so new, well, kind of new, that he tried to pull himself back into the moment and instead said, "Lean down and kiss me." After John did, Sherlock said, "I need to move faster now, harder, do you want to get onto your back?"

"Thank God," John moaned, bracing his legs and starting to thrust faster, landing harder onto Sherlock. "Just a second," he begged, throwing his head back with a groan as he felt Sherlock pushing into him.

Sherlock lifted himself to watched John. "Fuck, you're so sexy," he groaned as he lifted his hips to thrust into him.

"Don't slip out," John said as he wrapped his legs around Sherlock and simply fell back, laying over Sherlock's legs and thrusting down against him.

"John," Sherlock called, the different angle surprising him. He sat up further to be able to better move and watch. He matched John's movements and once he felt steadier, he reached down and ran his hands between John's legs, over his balls, and then on top of John's as he stroked himself. "Oh god, John," he moaned, then closing his eyes and tipping his head back. It was like he was just receiving pleasure, his body was just being pleasured and all he needed to do was survive how good it felt.

John moaned loudly and gripped his hand, tugging himself as he moaned. "Come on, fuck me."

Sherlock bent his knees just a little so he could thrust harder. "Fuck, John," he called, "I'm going to come" and then he was and it lasted forever and he forgot everything else in the world except this. And then he opened his eyes and tried to breathe.

John arched against his legs as Sherlock pushed into his body and filled him. He stroked his cock and came seconds later, all over his own stomach as he shouted his name.

"John," Sherlock gasped but he couldn't really make any other words, so he just called John's name again. He pushed himself further up and reached down to grab John's arms to pull him close. He wrapped his arms around John, now on his lap, and just held him tightly. Then he pulled John down to lie at Sherlock's side on the bed. He stroked his hair and face and realised he wanted to tell John he loved him, but instead he just kissed his mouth softly.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and breathed into his hair, swallowing and still making small sounds as the aftermath wore off. He let Sherlock move him, lay him down, he kissed him quietly. He focused on his breathing so that he wouldn't say something crazy in his euphoria.

Sherlock continued to softly stroke John's cheek. "Are you sleepy?" he said.

"A little bit," John admitted. "Two in a row sort of got me," he smiled.

"I thought the army would've made more of a man out of you, John Watson," Sherlock said, teasing. "Let's rest again. I want to watch you fall to sleep," he added, "I love -- being with you. And you'll need your rest."

John met his gaze and flushed lightly.

"I won't say yet what I want when you wake up again," Sherlock said, smiling. "I've got quite a long list, but I don't want to scare you." He squeezed into John. "Go to sleep now, so I can watch your pretty face."

"A whole list, huh? I better rest up," he smiled. "But don't watch me or I'll never sleep," he murmured, closing his eyes.

"All right," Sherlock said, closing his eyes and making snoring sounds, but then opening one eye back up. "You asleep yet?" he asked, laughing a little.

"No, Sherlock, I think there's a wild animal in the bed," he grinned, opening one eye and laughing. It had been a long time since he felt so light and happy. 

"Well, I think your wild animal should have a little rest before he goes back on the prowl," Sherlock said. This time he snuggled down into the pillow and closed his eyes properly. "I'm sleepy, too, I confess," he said softly.

John reached up and pet his hair lightly before pulling his hand back and curling into himself. "Then let's both sleep," he murmured, watching Sherlock now. 

"Shush, I'm trying to sleep," Sherlock said dozily. There was no chatter in his head, he couldn't hear anything except John's heart beating next to his own.

John fell asleep shortly after, and again his mind was calm and quiet. Sleeping with Sherlock was proving to be very good for him. He rolled and shifted closer to him, curling against him as he slept. 

Sherlock woke after a little while and did watch John sleep. He pressed soft kisses on his face and said, "Love," softly in a way that was sufficiently vague to not make him feel confused about what he was feeling.

John's face twitched, and he moved slightly as Sherlock spoke so close to him. He took a deep breath and shifted, snoring softly now. 

Sherlock wanted to wake John up. He really, really did. But he let him sleep and just curled against him, glad that he was here in his bed rather than stuck in his head.

More movement. John yawned and blinked his eyes open, looking down at Sherlock's head. He grinned and stayed still. "Did you find the wild animal?" he whispered. 

"Yes, he's in my pajamas," Sherlock said, smiling. "He's asleep at the moment, but don't worry, he'll be back." He put a quick kiss on John's mouth.

John grinned and made to sit up. "I need the bathroom," he murmured, shifting to get out of bed. 

"Shall we both get up? I'm happy to, but if you're coming back, will you bring a glass of water? What time is it anyway?" he looked at his clock. "It's two in the morning, John," he said smiling.

"Is it, really?" John asked surprised. He got up and grabbed the towel again, wrapping it around his waist. "I'll bring water. We can just lay down for a bit, chat or something." He winked and left the room. After using the toilet he make shift brushed his teeth with his finger and then went to get two bottles of water. He gasped and shut the door quickly, sure he'd just seen a head. He opened it slowly. "What the --?" He shut it again and filled a glass from the sink instead bringing it to Sherlock.

"Shhh, don't ask," Sherlock said as John returned. "If you think about moving in, I promise I'll explain before you shift your stuff. Come back to bed, the wild animal feels like 'chatting'," he said smiling.

"I . . . okay," he said, figuring that talking about a severed head in the fridge would not be the sexiest of things. He took the towel off and lay down, reaching down to stroke Sherlock slowly. "What does he want to say?" John murmured. 

"That he loves you," Sherlock said quietly, surprising himself. He put his hand over John's as John stroked him.

John looked up and met his gaze. "I love him too," he said softly. "Well, that didn't come out as right . . . I meant you. I'm going to stop speaking," he said, looking down at their hands instead.

"Do you, John?" Sherlock said, stopping both their hands. "You shouldn't say it if you don't mean it -- that wouldn't be good for either of us. Is it too new? Is it really me you feel that way about or the person in you remember because I'm not that person anymore." He knew he should be asking himself the same questions.

"I really think I do, Sherlock," John admitted, watching him carefully. He hoped he hadn't just ruined everything.

"I see," Sherlock said. "And can I just clarify -- are we talking about loving each other or just the . . . sex?"

"Well, the sex is pretty fantastic," John smiled lightly. "But you are even more so," he said, a bit embarrassed.

"Well . . . "Sherlock said, starting to move both their hands slowly again. “I can assure you that it is pretty fantastic. But maybe there is someone out there who'd be better for you -- in and out of bed. I've never had these feelings before, John, I'm worried you deserve better than me." He turned his head a little and tried to think of their hands which were a more familiar feeling for him to deal with.

"Let me worry about that," John said quietly, reaching down to hold Sherlock's cock. "I'm not worried, Sherlock. I love you," he murmured.

"Well, I love you too," Sherlock said quietly. "Let's stop talking now." He shifted his hips a bit.

"Okay," John said, moving his hand a bit faster.

Sherlock sat himself up a little and reached one hand to John's head and kissed him. He moved his mouth to John's ear and whispered, "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. I never have." His hand reached down to stroke John, and his mouth returned to John's for a long kiss.

"I wouldn't either," John murmured against his lips. He moved closer and started stroking faster, panting softly. He dipped his thumb over the tip, kissing him again.

Sherlock pulled their upper bodies together and he held tightly onto John as they stroked each other. His hips occasionally instinctively moved, but everything else was still. He felt both of their breaths quicken and let out small pants against John's ear.

"Everything you do feels so good," John moaned softly, thrusting lightly into his hand. He moved to get on top of him, straddling him as they stroked each other.

"Do you have a plan, John Watson?" Sherlock said, quietly.

"Not really -- I just love feeling you everywhere," he murmured. He kissed Sherlock again, holding both of their cocks now and stroking them together.

"Mmmm . . . that feels nice," Sherlock said. "I'm feeling lazy. Will you take care of this?" He leaned back on the bed and put his arms above his head.

John grinned and bucked his hips, gripping the both of them properly. "Of course I will," he murmured. "Talk to me . . .tell me your favorite things."

"Your face is my favourite thing . . . I like watching it," Sherlock said closing his eyes and thinking of John's orgasm face. "Mmmm . . . it's lovely."

John flushed and admired Sherlock's face as he spoke. He leaned down and peppered his face with light kisses. "I meant in general, you romantic sod," he teased 

"I don't . . . " Sherlock said, taking a big breath and lifting his hips, "I don't really do much besides work."

John smiled and kissed his mouth. "Dirty talk for me, love," John explained, kissing his mouth again. His hands gripped a bit tighter to give them more friction.

"Oh right, just be more obvious next time!" Sherlock said laughing. "Hold on, then, give me a minute," Sherlock said. He pressed his head back and concentrated on John's hand. Then he opened his eyes and looked at John. "I don't think I can now," he said. "Everything I think to say I feel like laughing even if I mean it."

John chuckled and pressed their foreheads together. "What if I told you that I love the weight of your cock in my hand?" He pecked a kiss on his mouth. "I like how it fills up my mouth . . . stretches my body." He moved harder, their cocks sliding together in his hand.

"That helps a bit," Sherlock said quietly. "And what about . . . inside me? What does that feel like to you?" The corners of his mouth turned up a little, dreamily.

John groaned softly as he thought about the first time he pushed into Sherlock's body. "Hot," he smiled. "Tight and warm and so, _so_ good, Sherlock."

"Yes," Sherlock moaned softly, "it'd been a long time . . . John, everything . . . it all feels good . . . it all makes me . . . feel."

John dipped down to kiss and suck as his neck. "I love feeling you," he murmured, heat flooding through him. The friction and the wetness and the grinding were starting to get to him. He started panting heavier. 

"John, I need to come," Sherlock said, sliding his hand down. "Let me help." He moved his hand to John's cock and starting moving on it fast and hard.

"Fuck," John breathed, bucking into his hand and matching his strokes. He managed a strangled warning before he came into Sherlock's hand and onto his belly, gripping the bed tightly and moaning his name. 

Sherlock moved his hand to his cock quickly -- it only took a few strokes with his now wet hand before he came as well. "Fuck, John," he exhaled. He tried to catch his breath. "You and your filthy mouth," he said in between pants, smiling.

John chuckled breathlessly as he moved to lay beside him again. "You liked it," he teased. 

Sherlock grabbed John's chin and kissed him hard. "I did," Sherlock said, "you filthy boy." He glanced at John's face and laughed. "Um . . . now you really are filthy -- sorry," he said, wiping his hand on the sheet, "I've got some of your face."

"I got it all over you, love. It's okay," he smiled. "I'm glad you liked the talking."

"I don't care about it being on me," Sherlock said. He looked at John's face and said, "The talking was good. Everything is good, John." He reached over and picked up his towel and cleaned up John before wiping the towel across his belly and hands.

"I don't care about it being on me, either." He turned on his side and grinned. "Everything really is good."

"John," Sherlock said, snuggling up against him. "I have some kind of bad news. . ."

John's heart picked up and he tried to keep breathing normally. "What is it?" he asked, trying to sound casual. 

"My . . . cock is tired," Sherlock said, trying to have a serious voice.

John actually laughed in relief, but he quickly sobered up and hummed. "How terrible. I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave now," he teased. 

"Still the same, I see," Sherlock said, smiling. "Are you paying in cash or should I put this on your tab?" Then his voice changed, "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

John didn't know how to feel about the statement, but he reminded himself that Sherlock loved him. They were together now and he didn't do that anymore. Still, he didn't carry on the joke. He changed the topic instead -- kind of. "As an accomplished doctor, I could work with you and get that all fixed up," he said in mock seriousness. 

"No offense, Doctor, but it was fine until you walked into this flat. I know I've no medical training, but I think there's a very good chance that you caused this problem," Sherlock said, snuggling into John. 

John grinned and held him tightly. "So I'm the perfect one to fix it," he said. 

"Okay," Sherlock said. "Seriously, though, I wasn't lying about this kind of stuff not being a part of my life anymore, even . . . on my own, I don't do it much . . . I don't want to let you down, but I think I might need a proper rest now."

"I'm not with you so you can sex me up twenty four hours a day, my love. You rest. I might nap again," he said. 

"But I do want to twenty four hours a day. . . " Sherlock said, his voice a little drowsy.

"Of course you do," John murmured now, speaking softly like he was reading a story to a child falling asleep. "And I want to . . . but we'll pass out from exhaustion and we'll get lazy and sloppy." He smiled softly. A very strange story. "Rest so we can do it proper."

"Don't sneak out," Sherlock said, already half asleep. He squeezed his arms around him as his eyes closed.

"Of course not," John said, closing his eyes. "You're stuck with me."

Sherlock fell to sleep against John. He dreamt of standing outside a restaurant window and watching John kissing a man and then three men grabbed Sherlock and took him to the old hotel room and tied his wrists and ankles to the bed and when one spoke, Sherlock screamed and then he woke up. He felt lost and then he remembered he was in his own room in his own flat and he looked over and it was John, just John. He sat up and drank some water. He looked at the clock. It was five o'clock. 

John hadn't been sleepy before, but the quiet of the room and the soft rhythmic breathing of Sherlock against him made him doze off. At Sherlock's slight twisting and then movement he stirred and started to wake up, yawning and stretching. "Are you all right?" he murmured, closing his eyes again as he tried to properly wake himself up.   

"Go back to sleep," Sherlock said, "it's still too early to get up." He set the glass on the table and scooted down in the bed again.

"Are you all right?" John asked again, opening his eyes now and turning on his side to face him. 

"Yes, shh, go back to sleep, it was just a dream -- it's okay, I'm okay," Sherlock said, trying to reassure John and maybe himself as well.

John grazed his fingers over Sherlock's cheek lightly and then reached down to take his hand. He didn't say anything else, and even after closing his eyes he didn't let go of Sherlock's hand. 

"Thank you being kind to me," Sherlock whispered, squeezing John's hand.

"I love you," John murmured in reply, half asleep again. 

"I'm glad," Sherlock said. He spooned John, pressing his nose against John's neck and inhaling his smell. He memorised it. He relaxed enough to fall asleep again.

John fell asleep, warm and comfortable in Sherlock's arms. Again his mind was free from the assault of war memories, instead showing him odd, blurry pictures he could hardly make out. He had never slept as good as he did with Sherlock.


	9. The Middle Of The Twenty Four Hours

When Sherlock woke up again, it was eight o'clock and he needed the toilet badly. He got up and went to the bathroom. His legs were still tired but his backside felt a little better. He stopped into the kitchen and put the kettle on, bringing two mugs of tea. He set one on John's side of the bed and then snuck in again to sit with his. He wanted to wake John up, but he worked very hard not to do so.

John felt movement again, but he had been properly tired after his nap and refused to get up just yet. Eventually, he blinked his eyes open again. "Don't you ever sleep?" he murmured, turning onto his other side and resting his forehead on Sherlock's thigh. 

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock said. "I was just sleeping -- in fact, I'm pretty sure I've already slept three separate times around you so I couldn't possibly know to what you are referring." He took a sip of tea. "Good morning, John Watson," he said, smiling.

"Sleep when I sleep," he grumbled unreasonably. He smiled and looked up at him, slowly sitting up and taking his tea. "Good morning, Sherlock."

"I just did!" Sherlock said. "It's not my fault you sleep all day! Goodness me, are you always so tetchy in the morning?" He set the mug down and turned to face John. He slipped one of his hands under the covers and cupped it around John's cock. "Am I going to have to do something to sweeten you up?"

"I'm very sweet," John said, opening his legs a bit. He wondered if he should lie down again but the way Sherlock was holding him made it hard to move. 

Sherlock let go of John. "Fine, I guess you're sweet enough -- no need for help from me then," he said. "I'll remember that from now on." He turned over to face away from John.

John lay down on his back and started poking at his arm. "I'm not that sweet," he said between jabs.

"Oh my god, you are confusing!" Sherlock said. He turned over and flopped flat on the bed. "What is it you want, John Watson?"

"You," he grinned, still jabbing away. "All of the time."

"You have all of me all the time now, you grumpy, sleepy person!" Sherlock said. "I'm going back to sleep. When I wake up, I'd like the not confusing, sweet John Watson back, please." He snuggled down and pretended to sleep.

John started to shake him now. "You can only sleep when I sleep," he said, his words broken between shakes.

"Well then go back to sleep! You have to be more adaptable if you're going to be in a relationship, John Watson! I've never had one but even I know that! Now look you're obviously a bit shaken up after all those orgasms, so let me help you out. Drink your tea," he said, motioning over to the table, "and after that, we're either going to go back to sleep or I'm going to go under the covers and suck your cock until it explodes in my mouth. Now which one would you like to happen? Think carefully."

"Well, listen to Mr. Dirty Mouth all of a sudden!" John said, grinning wider. He pushed his hands under the covers and started stroking himself slowly. "If I'm going to fall asleep, can I at least dream of that lovely mouth of yours?"

"No, sleep or mouth, not both," Sherlock stood up and went to the bathroom and returned with a warm, wet washcloth. "Well, have you decided?" he said as he slinked back into bed.

John pouted playfully. "Mouth," he murmured. "You're the grumpy one -- why are you yelling at me? I just woke up!"

"I'm not yelling, John. I'm just trying to make sense of everything," Sherlock lifted the covers and wrapped the warm cloth around John's cock. "Thanks for making this big for me," he said. He threw the washcloth to the floor and then put his mouth around John, almost all of him, but without letting his lips touch him. He exhaled his breath over him and then he closed his mouth, slowly dragging back up to the tip. Then he licked all over, making him all wet. "You haven't fallen asleep yet, have you?" Sherlock lifted his head and said.

"No," John moaned, the sound filled with need for some sort if contact. "Please . . ." he murmured.

"Listen, John," Sherlock said, his voice now softer. "Relax back onto the bed. Let your body do whatever it needs to do, all right?" He slipped John's tip back into his mouth and his hand dropped to caress John's balls.

John stilled his body instead of writhing lightly, but as soon as Sherlock's mouth was properly on him again he was squirming with pleasure. "That's so good." He brought one hand down to hold Sherlock's hair, caressing lightly.

"Shh, no talking," Sherlock said from under the covers. "Let your body tell me . . ." He stroked John with his free hand as he flicked his tongue over John's tip.

John bit his lip to keep quiet, rolling his hips lightly up to Sherlock's mouth for more. 

Sherlock inhaled and then moved slowly down John's cock again, all the way to base, and began a faster movement, down and up, as he pressed on John's perineum. His other hand gripped John's thigh. He let out some moans and felt his own body heat up 

John started panting heavily, biting his lip harder so he could keep quiet. He was writhing properly now, gripping Sherlock's hair and the bed sheet even harder. 

Sherlock's hand moved from John's leg and slid under his lower back. He pressed in, encouraging John to rock his hips. Sherlock relaxed his throat and prepared for John's thrusts. 

John complied with the guiding of Sherlock's hand, pushing into his mouth with a small sound. He relented and moaned, murmuring Sherlock's name as he moved. "M'close . . . oh God." 

Sherlock moaned against John, continuing to press John's back so he'd know it was all right to let go.

John groaned and pushed up as he let go, coming into Sherlock's mouth. John moaned and panted as he settled back against the bed, bringing the hand curled in the bed sheet up to his face. 

Sherlock swallowed around John as he came and then slowly lifted his head. He wiped his face which was damp from the heat underneath the covers and slid up against John, kissing his chest. "I could do that every morning," he said softly. "It feels good to make you feel good."

"It's a lovely way to wake up," John murmured, finally getting his breathing under control. He laced his fingers into Sherlock's hair again. "I could too for you . . ." he trailed off with a happy sigh. 

"I know you could," Sherlock said, lifting his hand to John's arm. He moved John's hand to Sherlock's hard cock. "But I'd rather come with your mouth on mine," he said as he turned to face John.

John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock and started to stroke him slowly. "But I like your cock in my mouth," he murmured against Sherlock's lips, kissing him hard after, his tongue pushing into Sherlock's mouth. His hand moved a bit faster. 

"We're only half way through our twenty four hours, John, there's plenty of time," Sherlock said. Then he pulled back a little. "Wait, hold on," Sherlock said, reaching to find the lube. "Here, use some of this. I think it'll help . . . keep me from getting too tender."

John nodded, pouring some into his hand and resuming his stroking. "Might need to eat after this," he smiled. He shifted so he could watch his hand moving over Sherlock. He loved kissing Sherlock but this -- it was beautiful. Touching Sherlock like this, knowing that he could, that he was the only one. He wanted to see it all happen. 

Sherlock let out a small gasp and then quickly his breathing got faster. He put his mouth on John's neck and bit softly. He bucked into John's hand as he lifted both his hands to John's hair and pulled lightly. "Yes, John," Sherlock said, "you make me feel so good."

John took in a slow breath at the hair pulling -- it was surprisingly good -- and he let it out just as slowly, swiping his thumb over the tip, watching closely as he spread the precome, watching it leak all over again as he stroked.

"Come on, John," Sherlock said, "make me come. Please, I'm so close." He buried his face in the crook of John's neck, sucking and biting on his skin. "Please," he begged.

"I want it, Sherlock," John murmured, his hand moving faster. "I want to feel you let go --let go in my hand, Sherlock. Come . . .come for me . . . show me how good you feel," he breathed.

Sherlock gripped John's hair and let out a shout, "Oh god, John" in an almost panicky voice. His hips thrust one more time and he came over their bellies. Then suddenly he was overwhelmed and he pressed his face against John's neck and said, "Don't leave, don't leave," over and over.

"Shh . . .it's okay . . . I've got you . . . you're okay," John murmured softly, holding him and petting his hair. He was flooded with feelings for Sherlock, and he was never as sure as he was then that he loved this man. 

Sherlock gathered his breath and wiped his hand to his face. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I don't know . . . I'm sorry, it felt good, you're so good." He reached up and kissed John's mouth.

John kissed back, keeping everything light and slow. The intensity from before was still fading, and he didn't want to do too much until Sherlock was okay. Until he was okay. 

Sherlock pressed against John. "I'm so glad you're here," he whispered. He felt more relaxed now. "Are we getting up now?"

"Are you okay to get up?" John asked, petting his cheek lightly. "I do need some food -- I can bring something to you."

"No, I'm okay," Sherlock said, "I promise . . . I'm just not used to feeling." He felt his cheeks redden a little. "But I don't want to stop. John, it's you and it's good, it's just new. I promise. I'm okay." He smiled a little and then started to get up from the bed. He reached for another pair of pajamas. "Are you going to get dressed? You can use the dressing gown again -- I'm afraid my pajamas might be too long for you."

John sat up and smiled. "The dressing down is fine," he said. "You don't have to apologize, okay? It's all new for me too, and I'm glad we're discovering it together."

"All right then," Sherlock said, smiling and pulling a face. "I won't apologise now when I tell you that I literally have no food in this flat for us to eat for breakfast. I won't apologise when I say we'll have to have a shower and then go out."

John flopped down onto the bed dramatically as if the news was killing him. He even flopped his tongue out for effect.  

"Well, I'm not apologising!" Sherlock said. "I'm getting in the shower. To wash. Join me if you want . . . but only to wash." He headed off to the bathroom and turned on the water.

John got up laughing, following him into the bathroom. He hung the robe behind the door and climbed into the tub. "You forgot me," he said. 

"Okay, but really we need to just wash out and then go. Do not touch my cock or you will be in proper trouble with me," Sherlock said. He reached for the soap. "Seriously . . . do not touch it or yours. I'll clean yours, I don't feel like I can trust you." He reached over for John's cock and washed it, giving a few extra strokes, but then letting the water rinse him. 

"Yes, sir," John grinned, letting Sherlock do as he pleased, rinsing off his stomach afterwards. "Where are we going for breakfast?"

"There's a cafe round the corner. We'll go there and eat and come back here and then some more fucking and eventually we'll go to yours," Sherlock said, smiling as he rinsed his hair through the water. "How about that?"

"That sounds lovely -- will we be fucking at mine too? There's not much else to do there I'm afraid." John was speaking in mock seriousness. 

"I imagine we probably will," Sherlock said casually. "How's your bed? Sturdy? Will we have to do it softly or could it survive a proper fucking?" He smiled at their conversation, so relaxed. He dried off and walked to the bedroom to put on clean clothes.

"It can survive a proper fucking -- then again I haven't tried yet so we'll have to test it," John said, pulling on his clothes. 

"Fine," Sherlock said, "but if I break it . . . I'm not apologising." He stuck out his tongue at John and then went to get his coat.

Sherlock led John downstairs and they bumped into Mrs Hudson. Sherlock introduced John and said, "I was just showing him the extra room."  
  
"You're lying, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said. "I remember him from yesterday and he said he wasn't here to look at the place." She glanced over at John and smiled. "Besides, I think I know what's going on here. Unless you're going to claim that it was one of your 'experiments' causing all that noise last night."  
  
"Mrs Hudson, please!" Sherlock said, in mock offense. "I apologise, John, she's not normally so outrageous, especially early in the morning." He turned to Mrs Hudson and said, "If he decides not to take it, you'll have no one but yourself to blame." He smiled and then turned on his heels. "We're going for breakfast now," he said, heading towards the door. 

"Stop grinning like a fool, Sherlock Holmes!" she called. "You'll make everyone on the street jealous!"


	10. A Trip Out

Outside, Sherlock grabbed John's hand. "Can you believe it was just yesterday this all started? I mean . . . started properly? Strange. But good."

"Things are definitely moving fast with us -- I like it," John smiled. "And there's no one to hear us at my flat, just so you know," he laughed.  

"Good to know, I'd like you to be very noisy for me," Sherlock said, smiling devilishly before leading John to the cafe. "But she didn't hear us -- that's just her way of trying to be clever."

"Well, either way, I like our sounds as well." He looked around the cafe and led them to a table. 

"Good," Sherlock said. He waited until they had ordered and then said, "And are there other things you'd like? Things we haven't done yet?" He kept his voice low.

John shrugged. "I've only ever done what we've done and I like all of that," he said. "Hmm -- the games were fun, like the having to be quiet." 

"I've only done what we've done, John. Before -- none of that matters . . . I've made it all go away." Sherlock said, looking down at the table. "It's just us now. Games? Intriguing." He took a sip of his tea.

John smiled and sipped at his tea, thanking the waitress when he got his breakfast. "Yes, didn't you like the games?" John looked over at Sherlock and wondered what exciting things he had done while working. He could tell Sherlock didn't want to think about it anymore so he didn't ask.

"Games are fine -- I didn't mean that. I meant . . . what I did before, before us -- all that's gone from my head now," Sherlock said. "Everything will be new to me, too."

"Okay," John said, smiling and touching his hand. "Is there anything you want to try, then?" he asked. 

"Yes," Sherlock said.

John waited for more, but when nothing came he found himself a bit nervous in pushing him. "Like?" 

"Like toys," Sherlock said as nonchalantly as he could in a cafe full of people.

John's mouth made a silent 'Oh' as he went back to eating his breakfast. He licked his lips. "Yes. That would . . .yes," he nodded. 

"Just to try, of course," Sherlock said, "We might not like it." He spoke like he was offering to try a new recipe for dinner and it made him smile a little.

John looked up and smiled back. "Don't see why we wouldn't -- will we need to pick anything up?"

"Obviously," Sherlock said. "I don't have anything like that in the flat. There's a place nearby. I've passed it before but have never gone in."

"Okay. We should go look," John said.

"John," Sherlock said, reaching over and holding his hand. "It was just an idea. We don't have to -- I'm very satisfied with everything we've done." 

"I am too," John said, holding his hand properly. "I am. But there is nothing wrong with trying new stuff. It'll be fun," he smiled. 

"We'll see," Sherlock said. They finished breakfast and wandered over to the shop. There was a woman at the counter and Sherlock smiled at her. He turned to John and said, "All right then. Let's have a browse or did you have something in mind?"

"Let's have a browse," John said. He'd seen things used in videos, before but he had a feeling that seeing them in real life would have a different effect -- make him a bit pickier. "Did you have something in mind?"

"I suppose I did have one thing in mind," Sherlock said. He looked round and found a not too big plug. "I was thinking this might help us switch faster . . . you know rather than have to get the other one ready . . . just an idea. . . what do you think?"

John nodded. "That's a good idea -- we're a bit impatient," he smiled. He moved along the row and picked up a slim, smooth vibrator. "What about this? If it was against the right spot . . ."

"All right then," Sherlock said. He looked it over. "Grab some batteries -- I doubt I have any in the flat." He reached over and got some more lube as well. "What else? Don't forget -- we've still got over eight hours to fill." He smiled cheekily. "Massage oil," he said abruptly.

"Oh yes, that sounds very nice," John said, picking one that warmed as you used it. He waved the bottle and smiled up at Sherlock. 

"For when I need you to baby me," Sherlock said. "Anything else?"

"Let's try these out and we can come back if we need more adventure," he smiled. 

"Okay, then," Sherlock said. He got out his wallet and paid and led John back to the flat. "Let's give them a wash and then try them out. You're still sexy, by the way." 

"Oh good -- for a second I thought I forgot it at the cafe," John grinned. 

Sherlock smiled. He washed and dried the toys and slipped the batteries into the vibrator. He turned it on and off and smiled. "All right then, I'm going in my room to use these now," Sherlock said. "Did you want to take a look at the room upstairs? Give me a half hour or so," he said, pulling a face at John and then rushing into his bedroom.

"Oh very funny!" John followed him and stood in the door. "If you want to be like that then I get them after, and I will go all the way home to use them," he warned. 

"Don't you dare, John Watson," Sherlock called. "Come in here and play with me!"

"You're the one that ran off, my love," John said, shutting the door as he came in and taking off his clothes. "Are we going to have a structured plan so just whatever suits our fancy?" He grinned and climbed up into the bed. 

"Well, why don't you find some place for this?" Sherlock said, handing him the plug and some lube. He quickly stripped and lay down flat on the bed with his legs slightly parted.

"I think you found the place for me," he chuckled. He crawled closer and spread his legs properly. He spread some lube onto his fingers and started with one to open him up a bit first. The plug was just to keep him that way and was a bit too wide to start with. He quickly progressed to two fingers, pumping and stretching as he admired Sherlock's body and the way his face changed as the pleasure took over. When he was opened a bit he slipped his fingers out and poured lube onto the toy. He pushed it against Sherlock's entrance, moving it back and forth with a bit more pressure each time until it pushed through. "Oh Sherlock," he mumbled at the sight, watching it disappearing into Sherlock.   

Sherlock took a few deep breaths as he felt John's fingers and waited for the feel of the toy. When John pushed it into him, he tensed a little but relaxed and felt it fill him. "Yes, it feels good," Sherlock moaned. "Pump a little more before you leave it," Sherlock said, his hips rocking a little. He held his cock softly.

John nodded and pumped it slowly, pulling it through the muscle almost all of the way before pushing it in again. He leaned down and, keeping up the slow movement, he started to suck Sherlock's cock, bobbing at the same speed. 

"God, John, I want you to fuck me already," Sherlock said. "We'd better move on. Get on top, but turn around and put your mouth of me again." He reached over for the vibrator and started slicking it. "I need to find a place for this."

"No patience," he teased, straddling Sherlock's stomach with his back to him. He hesitated as he thought about how properly exposed he was going to be but he focused on Sherlock's cock and just bent forward, taking him into his mouth again. 

"Yes, your mouth," Sherlock said. He reached through John's legs and stroked his cock a few times. Then he rubbed his hand between John's legs and moved the vibrator to John's perineum and over top John's hole. Finally he slid it inside a little and moved it back and forth. "Okay?" he asked.

John hummed around his cock before pulling off. "I'm okay," he nodded, sucking Sherlock into his mouth again and bobbing a bit faster. 

Sherlock let himself enjoy John's mouth for a moment -- John's movements were causing his body to shift and he felt the pressure of the plug. It was good, but he turned his attention back to John. He pushed the vibrator further into John and starting pumping it slowly. He got into the same rhythm as John's movements on Sherlock. And then he switched the vibrator on as he continued to move it in John.

John pulled off and groaned, arching as he felt the pulsing through his whole body. "Christ," he murmured, sucking Sherlock back into his mouth. He didn't know how long he could last if that was against his prostate -- the thought made him nervous.  

Sherlock angled the vibrator and let it just brush John's prostate, before quickly pulling it back. "Hold on for me, John," Sherlock said, "don't let go."

John pulled off again with a small shout. Just that little touch was intense. "Oh God," he moaned, stroking Sherlock with his hand instead. 

Sherlock kept going, but pretty soon he was finding himself getting too close. Sherlock said, "Okay, John, I need to fuck you now," he breathed heavily. "I'm going to fuck you until I come and then you fuck me. This means you're going to have to keep holding on, John, because I don't want you to come until you're inside me." He was holding John's hips, pushing him forward a little.

John moved to let him up. "Okay . . . I can wait for that, but not on my prostate again, I'll come for sure," he murmured. 

"I want you to ride me, stay facing the same way as you were, I might need you to give the plug a little attention," Sherlock said. "I'm going to have to trust you to keep your hands off yourself."

"I will," John promised, scooting down and lining Sherlock up to him. He came down slowly, wincing because Sherlock was bigger than the vibrator. "Oh fuck," he moaned, slowly sinking down until Sherlock was all the way in. He paused to adjust, gripping Sherlock's thighs before he started to move up and down. 

"God, yes," Sherlock moaned, his upper body lifting a bit off the bed. "Fuck, you feel so good," he said as he lay back. He looked down and watched John bouncing on him, "it's so good."

John moaned his agreement, sliding his hands to just above Sherlock's knees for more leverage, moving up and down faster now.  

"Squeeze me, John, squeeze your muscles," Sherlock said. He rubbed his hands across his chest and then up into his hair.

John complied, squeezing as he came up each time. He moaned louder, panting and murmuring Sherlock's name.  

"That's good, John, yes, it's perfect, I'm getting close, don't stop moving but listen to my voice," Sherlock said, trying to keep himself steady. "Touch the plug, just little pushes as you keep your body moving -- it's going to make me come, I won't last long, you're making me crazy already," he reached down to touch John's body. "Let me fill you with my come and then as fast as you can, fuck me and fill me with yours, okay, John? Can you do that for me?"  
  
"Yes," John whimpered. "I can do that." He slid his hand up between Sherlock's legs and pushed in the plug, matching the speed he was moving over Sherlock with. He was leaking against his belly, painfully hard. 

"God, yes, John, that's incredible, harder, harder, please," Sherlock moaned. He was so close.

John moaned and panted as he slammed down onto Sherlock, pushing the plug harder with his fingers. This was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. 

"Yes," Sherlock shouted loudly, lifting his hips twice more, coming into John hard, filling him. His fingers gripped John's skin and Sherlock could barely breathe, but he managed to say, "Now, John." He tried to separate his legs and started to lift them. 

John pulled off and crawled down, pulling the toy out of Sherlock and quickly lining himself up. He pushed in, leaning over Sherlock as he thrust into his body. He only managed a few thrusts before he pushed in hard and came, calling out Sherlock's name. He fell on top of him, panting and exhausted. "S-sorry . . . couldn't hold on longer," he murmured

Sherlock's body took John's thrusts, though it was almost too much, so close after his own orgasm. He squeezed John as hard as he could and thrust his hips up to meet John as he came into Sherlock. When John fell onto him, he wrapped his arms around him. "Fucking hell, John," he said, laughing a little, "that was fucking incredible."

John nodded, swallowing hard as he caught his breath. "That was . . . the hottest thing I've . . .I've ever done, Sherlock." 

"Thank you for trying my idea," Sherlock said, "you were perfect. I'm extremely glad we went to that shop." He smiled at John, running his fingers through his hair.

"It was a lot of fun, Sherlock. You're quite clever," he smiled. 

"I am sometimes, aren't I?" he said. "Let's rest. Not sleep, just be soft." He stroked his fingers lightly up and down John's chest.

"Did you like how the toy felt?" John asked.

"I did, but I think I might like it best when you're moving it," Sherlock asked. "Did you like how the other one felt?"

"Yeah . . .well, as far as movement I like you better," he admitted. "But that vibrating on my prostate -- I almost came right then. That shouldn't be used if we want drawn out games."

"Fair enough," Sherlock said. "What do you want to do now?"

"Massage?" John smiled, reaching to get the massage oil from the bag on the ground. 

"Yes, please," Sherlock said, rolling on to his stomach. "I mean, me first then you. I promise." He looked over at John and smiled.


	11. The End Of The Twenty Four Hours

John smiled and climbed over him. "I was suggesting that I do you first anyways," he said. "Keep your pants on. Or off, actually," he grinned. He poured a bit of the oil on his back and started rubbing, kneading the muscles.

Sherlock let out a soft moan at John's hands. He relaxed into his touch.

John pressed the heels of his hands into each dip and curve of his back, closing his eyes to properly enjoy the moment. He moved lower, but slowly, eager to stretch it out. 

"Mmmm," Sherlock made a soft noise. "I think I have muscles I was unaware of. Or at least they're being used in a way they previously hadn't. It feels good -- I like how the warmth as well."

"I thought you might," John smiled. He was pushing lightly out to the sides, kneading with his fingers now.

"Are you going to be mad if I get a hard on? It's just you . . . touching. I'll try to think of something else if you want me to," Sherlock admitted.

"Of course I won't get mad," John said. "It's perfectly understandable."

"Good," Sherlock said, relaxing even more deeply. "You just feel so good."

"As do you," John smiled, moving up to his shoulders again, rubbing them before moving along his upper arms. 

Sherlock was quiet for a while just enjoying John's touch. It was good but so unusual. He wondered what would happen -- would John live here? Could he make John happy after these twenty four hours? He brought his mind back to John's hands and concentrated on those.

"What are you thinking about?" John asked softly, bringing his hands back to his upper shoulders and back. 

"You," Sherlock said honestly. "I want to make you happy."

"You do make me happy," John said. His hands worked gentler now, touching more than massaging. 

"But I mean . . . always, not just in this bed, not just for the first few months . . . always," Sherlock said quietly.

"I know what you mean," John said. He leaned down and kissed the back of his neck. "We'll be okay."

"I hope so," Sherlock said, reaching back and touching one of John's knees. "I never want to let you down again."

"Hold on -- when did you let me down before?" John asked. 

"You know . . . before," Sherlock said, his voice even more quiet than it had been. "When you found out the truth."

John rest his head on the back of Sherlock's neck, shaking it lightly. "I was surprised, Sherlock. And yeah, a bit hurt thinking I had been used," he admitted. "But that's not what happened. You stayed. You found me. You didn't let me down."

"But I misunderstood that night and when you came back . . . what makes you think I won't misunderstand again?" Sherlock kept concentrating of John's hands, to keep himself focused.

"Nothing," John said honestly. "I'm sure we're going to have a hundred misunderstandings. Look where we are now, after that big one. We'll be okay, Sherlock," he repeated. 

"Just keep rubbing," Sherlock said, "I'll try to believe you." He wiggled a little under John.

John sat up again and resumed massaging his back, adding a bit more oil so it would warm up again. 

"Yes," Sherlock said, "things are much better when you just obey me and don't bother trying to be sensible." He smiled and turned his head to put his other cheek on the pillow.

John chuckled and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Don't get cheeky now," he teased.

"To be honest, I think you like that," Sherlock said, lifting his hips up and down a little like he was humping the bed.

John didn't say anything to that, sitting up again and rubbing his back again. His hands pressed slower and more deliberate.

"God, John," Sherlock said, "that actually feels fucking fantastic. You're really good at this. Your hands . . ." He made a soft little moan -- this kind of touch was so good as well.

John grinned. "I'm glad you're enjoying it," he said.

"I hope you don't expect the one I give to be as good as yours," Sherlock said. "I think I am both too selfish and too impatient to do it as nicely as you do."

"Hmm, that sounds familiar," John teased, leaning down to kiss him quickly so he wouldn't think John was serious.

"Were you thinking of going lower? I mean, my legs?" Sherlock said. "The warm oil would feel nice . . ."

"Well, I am now," he smiled, sitting up again. He scooted lower and poured a bit more of the oil in his hands, rubbing them together. He used one to massage his lower back, sliding the other between his legs to rub his balls gently. "Is this where you wanted it?"

"Well, I really did mean my legs but now . . . yes, that's where I want it," Sherlock said, writhing softly at John's touch. 

John moved the hand on his back down to his thigh. "Here?" 

"Yes," Sherlock said. "And the balls again, please."

John did both, his hands moving slow and as hard as he dared so he wouldn't hurt him.

"Perhaps the whole area might be easier?" Sherlock said.

John chuckled and spread his hands over his arse, massaging that, spreading him lightly, doing his inner thighs and balls again. "I really love touching you, Sherlock."

"Good," Sherlock said, "because I really love your touching." He reached down and grabbed one of John's hands. Then Sherlock spread his arms out to his sides, trying to make himself sink deeper into the mattress. God, his body felt so relaxed.

John smiled and kept up the pattern of switching and rubbing. 

Sherlock reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube. He rolled it down towards John.

"Can I use the vibrator on you?" John asked, pulling the lube closer to him.

"If you insist . . . " Sherlock said, turning around and smiling. "Go wash it off first. And can you bring back some water . . . and remember not to look in the fridge? Wait, I'll get the water, you go rinse it."  
  
Sherlock stood up naked and walked to the kitchen. He came back with two glasses of water. He got back on the bed on his belly and waited for John.

When he returned, John straddled his thighs again. "Try not to come with it, okay? I do want to fuck you, too," he requested. John had never felt anything like it before so he had been surprised and now he wondered if Sherlock had ever used one before.

"Your filthy mouth, John, you know what it does to me," Sherlock said. He took a few deep breaths. "I'll try my best to wait. Just . . . if I say stop, stop, yeah?"

"I promise," John said. "Will you pull your knees up under you, please?" He started with his fingers again, lubing them up and moving slowly. "You know, I'm still waiting for your filthy mouth," he grinned.

Sherlock pulled his knees up. "I love your fingers," Sherlock groaned, pressing back against John. "Is it going to be better than your fingers?" 

"It's very intense," John said. He put some lube on the vibrator and switched his fingers for it. He liked how smooth it was -- easier to move back and forth. When he got a steady rhythm going he turned it on.

Sherlock called out, "Fuck" and moved back a bit from it. "Don't stop -- it doesn't hurt, it's just . . . fuck. Keep moving it." He let out some spontaneous moans and rolled his hips a bit.

John rubbed his lower back as he moved it, angling it to touch Sherlock's prostate as he slowly pushed it in and out of him. "It looks so sexy, Sherlock."

Sherlock cried out at the touch. He took a deep breath. "Okay," he said, his breath shorter. "I see what you mean about this not taking long." He took a few more breaths. He slipped his hand between his legs and just stroked slowly. "Maybe you could turn it off and use it for a bit?"

John nodded and turned the toy off, moving it faster now that it wasn't so intense.

Sherlock reached a hand back and gripped the sheets. "Yes, like that, I'm sorry, yes," he pressed back against the toy. "I like when you do it hard like that -- it makes me think of you fucking me."

"Let's do that, then," John murmured. He pulled the toy out and tugged Sherlock onto his side. "Pull this knee up," he instructed, pushing the leg that was on top. John lined himself up and pushed into Sherlock, moving his hips steadily. He rest his chin on Sherlock's shoulder, panting and moaning with each movement into his body.

Sherlock wrapped an arm around John's back and arched into him. "Yes, John, yes," he moaned. John's movement was rocking the bed and it all felt so good.

John easily draped his arm over Sherlock's waist, stroking him as he pushed into his body from behind. The movement was a little awkward being on his side but it felt fantastic. He pressed his mouth to Sherlock's ear. "You're so fucking sexy, love."

Sherlock's arm moved his arm back to the front and rested it on the bed. "John, fuck me . . . every way, please, so you know that it's just you, that I belong to you."

"Come up on top of me," John moaned, moving to get onto his back. He helped get Sherlock on top and as soon as Sherlock sank onto him he gripped his hips and pushed up hard, over and over. "Lean . . . lean down on me," he murmured. John kissed him hard as Sherlock lay on top of him, John pushing up into his body. "I-I want you to come all over me," he moaned against his mouth.

Sherlock reached his hands over John's head and gripped the headboard. His hips banged against John as he rolled them. "You're going to make me come from just the fucking, John," he moaned. "It's so good, I want you deep inside so I can feel everything," he moaned, pressing down against John's thrusts.

John thrust up harder, swearing loudly at the effort. "You feel so fucking good, Sherlock."

Sherlock tried to still his body. "Wait, John, wait," he made his voice as calm as he could although he was panting heavily. "Don't come yet, I don't want it to end yet. Close your eyes." He reached a hand back and started rubbing John's balls and between his legs. Then he slowly started moving up and down on his cock. "Keep your eyes closed, John. Picture it in your head." Sherlock let his fingertips brushed John's hole and he kept the up and down movement.

"Sherlock . . .p-please," John whispered. "I'm so close . . please."

"God, you're sexy when you beg," Sherlock said. "You let me take care of the fucking. You're in charge of making me come all over you." He lifted one of John's hand to Sherlock's hard cock and then went back to fucking John, squeezing his muscles tightly.

John groaned as he gripped Sherlock's cock, stroking hard and fast. "I need to come, but I want you first . . . cover me. . . come all over me," he panted, choppy and gasping as he rocked into Sherlock.

Sherlock closed his eyes and imagined it all in his head. He bucked into John's hand, feeling his cock inside him as he pressed back. "Fuck, John, yes, yes, almost, almost . . . " He slipped a finger inside John, pressing against his prostate. He felt John's body tense and then he shouted John's name and came over him. He did his best to keep fucking John.

John shouted out and bucked up when he felt Sherlock's finger inside of him. It was so intense his vision blurred as he squeezed his eyes shut. When he came back, he was still calling out Sherlock's name, dropping hard onto the bed. 

Sherlock slipped his finger from John. He lifted off of John and sat beside him, leaning over and looking him up and down. "John Watson, you've got come all over you," he said, laughing a little.

"Good," John chuckled breathlessly, trying to catch his breath.

Sherlock leaned over and dragged his finger through it on John's chest. "Messy, messy, messy," he said, smiling. "Let me get a wash cloth and I'll clean you up."

"Okay," John murmured, closing his eyes with a sigh. He wasn't sleepy, but he felt like he needed to recover.

Sherlock went to the bathroom and got a warm, wet cloth. He came back and rubbed it over John's chest and belly and then cleaned up the mess that he left when he moved off of John. He took that cloth back to the bathroom, rinsed and cleaned himself and then returned to the bedroom. He lay flat on his back next to John. "When the twenty four hours are up," he said softly, "will you be sick of me?"

"Nope," John said, turning to face him. "I need you to believe me when I say it, Sherlock. I don't make promises like that lightly. I love you." 

Sherlock didn't look over at John. "Even when I make you all messy?" he said softly.

John grinned. "Especially when you make me all messy," he said. He took Sherlock's hand and lay on his back as well, staring at the ceiling.

"John, do you realise that the vast majority of the time we've spent together -- ever -- we've had no clothes on?" Sherlock said. "What do you make of that?"

"Well, I'm curious as to what you have in your closet if you think I am going to leave you because of the clothes you have in there." He smiled lightly and squeezed his hand. "We don't need clothes to connect, Sherlock. We've talked a lot -- more than just about sex."  

"I know we have, John," Sherlock said. "I'm just making an observation." He fiddled a bit with John's hair. "Of course, we could also fuck with clothes on some time . . ."

"You're all about the mess," John grinned, looking over at him.

"I bet I could figure something out to minimise mess -- I'll work on it, and then I'll fuck you with our clothes still on and when the mess is avoided, you'll be so impressed, you'll beg me to fuck you again," Sherlock said. "Just you wait."

John grinned. "What if I beg you to fuck me twice anyways?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Then I'd refuse to," he said.

"What?" John asked in mock surprise. "That just won't do, Sherlock. I need it."

"Too bad," Sherlock said casually.

John opened his mouth to argue but then shut it and shrugged. "Fine," he said. He got up and went to the bathroom, washing off the vibrator again. He climbed back into the bed and leaned on the headboard, opening his legs wide. "I'll do it myself, then." He started to get it wet with his mouth, bobbing up and down on it. After a minute he put it between his legs, pushing it into his body. He moaned dramatically loud, pushing it in and out.

Sherlock tried to stay still for as long as he could. Then he turned on his side to watch John. "Close your eyes," he said calmly and clearly, "listen to my voice."

John smiled at having got to him, closing his eyes as he moved the toy in and out.

"We've just finished our dinner at a very nice restaurant. You look so smart -- I've been admiring you during the meal. I bring you home to this flat and into this room. I place a cloth on the edge of the bed and then you get on your knees. I pull your arms behind your back and cuff them together. I can't let you touch yourself -- you're the one who makes everything messy. Are you picturing this is your head, John?"

John huffed out a hard breath and nodded. "Yes," he murmured. "Does that mean I can't touch myself now?"

"No, keep touching yourself now -- I love watching you, it's making me hard again," Sherlock said. "You're on your knees, hands cuffed behind your back. I move in front of you and sit on the bed. I open my trousers and get out my cock. It's hard already, it got hard the minute I cuffed your hands. I put my hands in your hair and pull you down. Remember before, the first time you did it, at the hotel, we're like that. But it's more urgent this time, John, I need it fast and hard. Will you let me fuck your mouth, John, when you're down on your knees still dressed in your clothes?"

John's mouth fell open as if it was going to happen right then. He couldn't even answer properly -- he merely moaned and nodded and let his mouth hang open. He was seeing it and he'd never been more turned on -- especially so quickly.

"Don't worry, I'll wipe your mouth with the cloth -- you won't make a mess on my clothes. Fuck, it feels good, fucking your mouth . . . but I'm not going to come there. I'm going to come in your arse, John. I get up now and move behind you. I undo your belt and pull down your trousers. Your arse is so gorgeous -- I want to bite it, but I don't because I need to get inside." Sherlock swallowed. "Are you making yourself feel good with that vibrator, John? If you are, say 'Yes, Sherlock'."

John was still thinking about Sherlock pushing into his throat to answer right away. God, he wanted to try that -- need spread through his every nerve. He imagined falling across the bed, his arms behind him as Sherlock spread his arse. "Yes, Sherlock," he breathed.

"Good, John, you're making me feel good as well," Sherlock said. "I spread the cloth back onto the bed and lift you off your knees, bending you over the bed. I have a feeling you're going to leak but we won't mess our clothes or the bed, will we? I slick myself up, I'm ready to push my fingers inside, but what's this, John?" He reached down and put his hand over John's, pumping the vibrator in hard just a few times. "You've got the plug in you, John, you dirty, dirty boy -- you've had that in all night because you were hoping I'd fuck you. You are so desperate, John, you're so filthy and it makes me want to fuck you even harder. Beg me, John, let me hear what you'd sound like begging me." 

John imagined it: slipping the plug inside in secret and wearing it all night at dinner. And then coming home and forgetting in all of the drama and Sherlock finding it this way. "I am filthy -- I just want your cock so badly. Sherlock . . .fuck . . .Sherlock please." He moaned, breathless and panting. He was going to come just talking to Sherlock.

"You are so filthy, John, you need such a good fucking, you need to find out what happens when such a dirty boy finds himself in handcuffs with his trousers down. You're going to get the hardest fucking of your life -- you can't wait but you're a little bit worried. You pull on the cuffs, you think for a moment about asking me to unlock your hands, but it's too late -- I'm going to fuck you now and I want the cuffs on, the cuffs make you sexier because I can do whatever I want to you. Do you really want me to take the cuffs off, John? Tell me."

"N-no . . .I like being. . . being yours," John moaned. "I need to be fucked . . .filled . . . p-please Sherlock."

"Good, you’re just going to lie there -- just going to take it, it's what you want, what you've wanted all night because you're so filthy. I tap the plug, I push on it -- feel it?" He reached down again and put his hands over John's to push in the vibrator a few times. "I pull it out and push into you. God, fuck, you feel good, I can't go slow, John, I grab your hips and slam into you, fuck, I can't help it, I can't stop, I'm going to fill you with my come, I'm going to come, John, I'm jerking into you, coming, filling you, can you imagine it? Can you feel me coming into you? If you can, say, 'Yes, Sherlock'."

John whimpered with need, sliding down on the bed a bit. He was pushing the vibrator so fast and hard now, and it wasn't enough. He turned it on, pressing in onto his prostate -- he was leaking all over himself. "Yes, Sherlock, please," he whined softly.

"Turn it off, John, we're not done yet." He waited for John to turn it off. "Keep moving it, keep fucking yourself with it. Good boy," Sherlock said. "Go back into your imagination. I've made a mess but it's inside, how can I keep it inside to avoid making a mess on your beautiful clothes? I've got an idea, John. I pick up the plug and push it back in, you won't make a mess because my come's going to stay in you now. Always. I wipe my hand over my cock, cleaning the rest of it off me -- I flip you over and tell you to open your mouth. Open your mouth now, John."

John whimpered, and his mouth fell open wide without him even thinking twice about out. He was bucking and writhing into his own hand and it wasn't enough -- not big enough or hard enough and he needed more. He opened his mouth.

Sherlock put his fingers into John's open mouth. "My fingers have my come on them -- lick it off. Imagine it now -- lick my fingers now."

John closed his mouth around Sherlock's fingers, sucking and licking them as if cleaning them off. He moaned around them, breathing heavily as he pushed the toy into himself. He opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock pleadingly. 

"Fuck," Sherlock said. He couldn't believe how sexy John was, even when it was mostly imaginary. "I move down your body and look at your gorgeous cock. It's hard and wet -- you're desperate to come, I can't wait to see you come. I slide you into my mouth, straight down my throat. You try to thrust up, but your arms are behind your back and it's awkward so I slide my hands under your arse and lift your hips for you. You're going to come in your mind, but not for real, John. You wait until I tell you you can come for real. But in your mind, you come right down my throat. I stand up and look at your beautiful fucked body and do you know what I notice, John?"

John squeezed his eyes shut and -- well, he had no idea what that sound was that ripped through his throat. He had never felt so desperate and needy in his whole life. He shook his head, slouching farther down.

"There's no mess at all. Just like I said. Because I'm the cleverest person you've ever let fuck you," Sherlock said. He sat up and lifted his leg over John's body. He grabbed John's cock and sat down on it. "Fuck yourself stupid with that vibrator as fast as you can because I'm going to come all over you in less than a minute." He started pumping his cock hard as he ground himself on John's cock. "Open your mouth," he said, "I want some to go into your mouth."

"God," Joan moaned, trying to turn the vibrator on again so he could get more out of it. He opened his mouth, watching Sherlock's hand move quickly, trying to push up into his body. 

"Fuck," Sherlock shouted, coming hard over John. He leaned over, still fucking John's cock, and trailing his fingers through his come and putting them in John's mouth for real. "Come, John, come, please, fill me, I want it."

John sucked his fingers again, swallowing the come. He reached down and - -there! The vibrator snagged on the bed, pushed against his prostate while it was on, and John came. His vision went white, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. He shuddered and shouted and moaned and gasped. It seemed to last forever. And then he slumped back, half on the headboard, the toy still vibrating inside of him. He was gasping for air, his eyes closed and his body limp with exhaustion. Sherlock was going to be the death of him.  

Sherlock lifted off John and turned off the vibrator and pulled it from him. "You are the single most gorgeous creature on earth," he said, leaning over and kissing his mouth and then dropping on the bed next to John.

John couldn't speak yet. He made a small sound to show that he had heard him, that he appreciated the words. He was going to fall asleep -- he was already halfway gone and he hoped that would be okay. Every time he thought he'd experienced the most intense orgasm of his life, Sherlock proved him wrong. He wondered if there was one more than this -- his heart would stop for sure. 

Sherlock wrapped an arm around John and curled him inward. "I think we both need some rest after that. Go to sleep, my beautiful baby boy. I will always take care of you." He kissed John's head and dropped his own against the pillow, closing his eyes.

John was gone. He didn't need telling twice. He fell asleep against Sherlock, breathing him in, his mind numbly quiet as he slept heavily against him. 


	12. A Disruption

When Sherlock woke up, it was dark again. They'd been asleep for hours. "John," he whispered. "It's too late to go to your flat tonight. But should we order something to eat? You'll need some food. I'll order it, we'll eat and then you can go back to sleep, I promise."

John groaned and stretched -- his whole body ached. He blinked his eyes open and nodded. "Okay, Sherlock. I . . . can we eat in bed?" he murmured.

"Of course," Sherlock said. He got out of bed and went into the bathroom to use the toilet and clean himself up. He picked up his phone and rang the Chinese. He made them cups of tea and went back to the bedroom. He handed John one and then put his pajamas on before crawling back into bed. "Are you feeling okay?" Sherlock said.

John scooted up and sipped at his tea. "Good -- that nap really helped," he smiled. He leaned his head back and smiled wider. "That was really sexy, Sherlock. All of it."

"You bring out the best in me, John Watson," Sherlock said and then heard a knock at the door. "That was fast," he said. "You stay here and look cute and sleepy. I'll be right back." He headed out and got his wallet before answering the door.

But it wasn't the food delivery. It was Mycroft. Sherlock shut the door.

Mycroft opened the door again and came in. "Why aren't you answering your phone or emails?" he asked.

"I've been busy," Sherlock said, flopping into his chair and crossing his legs. "Didn't I just see you last night?"

"That was two nights ago, Sherlock," Mycroft said, walking over to Sherlock. He reached down to grab Sherlock's chin. "Let me see your eyes."  
  
Sherlock squeezed them shut. "Fuck off and get out," he said.

"Too busy to get your test done this week, too busy to check your email -- Sherlock, I want you to come stay with me," he said. "Go get some clothes."  
  
"Get out," Sherlock said, kicking an empty tea pot off the table. It broke as it crashed to the ground. "Get out, get out, get out!" he shouted, pushing Mycroft towards the door.

John's head snapped up at the noise, and he got up quickly. He was a bit wobbly on his feet but he pulled Sherlock's dressing gown on and headed out to the sitting room. He spotted the broken tea pot and then Sherlock fighting someone. "Hey," he called out, pulling Sherlock back. "Hey, calm down, what's going on? Who are you?" he asked, turning towards Mycroft now.

Mycroft ignored John's questions completely. "Sherlock, get your clothes," he said, "I said, you're coming with me. You -- whoever you are -- are no longer needed here."

"Excuse me?" John asked, laughing softly. "You need to leave now."

"John," Sherlock said quietly, "stop talking."

Mycroft eyed John. "I recognise your face," he said and then turned to Sherlock. "Go get your clothes, I said."  
  
Sherlock took a step and then stopped. He didn't know what to do.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said, "I'm losing my patience." He turned back to John. "Whatever has been happening here is now finished. Get out."

"I'm not leaving," John said, but it didn't come out as strongly as he'd meant it because Sherlock was borderline agreeing, hesitating. John turned away from the man and focused on Sherlock. "Who is this? What's going on?"

Sherlock tried to say something, but Mycroft interrupted him. "I take care of Sherlock. I look after him. Sherlock is my concern -- not yours. You, however, are of no concern to me. You are a stranger and, as I've repeatedly said, are not needed here."

For one wild second John thought this was the man pimping Sherlock out, the one collecting the money Sherlock wasn't making with John. But that couldn't be right -- he didn't do that sort of thing any more. John moved in front of Sherlock again and looked up at him, holding his gaze. "Tell me what you want me to do," he said quietly.

"Sherlock, keep your mouth shut. John, is it? You clearly have no idea what is going on here. That makes sense -- you don't know Sherlock. We saw you at the restaurant the other night and he said you weren't even friends. If you knew Sherlock, you'd know me. You do not. I do hesitate to continually repeat myself, but you are nothing to him."  
  
"Mycroft," Sherlock said, finally able to speak. "Don't . . . please."

John turned around slowly. "You're not so well informed, I'm afraid. I do know Sherlock, I've known him for over two years," he said, glaring at Mycroft. Who was this guy, anyways? Why was Sherlock so scared? John stood in front of Sherlock a bit more, as if to protect him.  
  
"Two years?" Mycroft said, his voice sincerely dropping. "Oh Sherlock . . . I'm so . . . disappointed." 

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Sherlock moved quickly to answer it. It was the food. He paid the delivery guy but before the man left, Sherlock pointed to Mycroft and said, "If that man doesn't walk out of this flat in thirty seconds, run downstairs and call 999."

"Sherlock, you are such a child. Fine, I'm leaving, but I'll be back tomorrow with Lestrade. Try not to be dead by then," he glared at John as he walked towards the door. He handed the delivery guy more money and said, "All's well" and then he was gone.

"Thank you," Sherlock said to the guy and shut the door. He carried the Chinese food into the kitchen, but didn't say anything.

John frowned at the door for a good minute after both men had left. Then he moved and followed Sherlock, watching him closely. He waited for Sherlock to talk when he was ready.

"Sorry about all that," Sherlock said. "Let's go eat." He handed John a plate and carried his back into the bedroom.

"Wait, Sherlock." John followed him quickly, shutting the door behind him. "Who was that? What happened?" John knew this had something to do with Sherlock's life before, especially the way the man changed when John said he'd known Sherlock then.

"That was . . . my brother," Sherlock said softly, pushing his food around his plate. "He's got . . . control issues, it's all a bit unusual. Perhaps we could talk about it more tomorrow, I want us to eat and then go back to sleep. I'm exhausted," Sherlock said. It wasn't really a satisfactory answer, he knew that. But how could he explain Mycroft and, even if he knew how to, he worried that it was too early, that John would find it too much and want to leave him.

John understood that, he was exhausted as well, but he wanted to help. He wanted to make Sherlock feel better. He remembered the way the man had spoken, the way he's looked at the both of them and got angry. "No offense, love, but he seems like a right arse." He started eating but he couldn't really enjoy it. 

"Well, yes, he is," Sherlock said, taking a bite of food. "But . . . he . . . looks after me as well . . . John, if you want to talk more about it, can't we do it tomorrow?" He stood up and carried his plate into the kitchen and came back, crawling into bed.

"Sure," John agreed, taking his own plate into the kitchen. There was a lot of food left so he wrapped it and moved to put in the fridge. "Oh -- " He paused as someone was staring out at him -- he’d forgotten about the head. He pushed his plate in on the shelf above, closed the door and went back to bed, climbing in beside Sherlock. He reached out and took his hand. 

"Thank you," Sherlock said. He squeezed John's hand and lay quietly next to him for a bit. Then he sat up and turned off the lamp. He curled himself around John and whispered, "This has been the best twenty four hours of my life."  
  
John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and kissed his temple. "Me too, Sherlock.," he murmured. He brought one hand up to pet his hair until he fell asleep. 

Sherlock did everything he could to clear his head as he fell away to sleep. His body was so tired -- it just needed rest and he hoped his mind would let him rest. It did.

John fell asleep shortly after him, but his nap before had been helpful. He woke up before Sherlock feeling so much better than before. He looked over at Sherlock sleeping beside him and resisted touching him, not wanting to wake him up. He knew Sherlock had been physically exhausted as well but after the drama with his brother John knew it would be more than that. John got up very slowly and went to the kitchen for water. He needed a shower and some fresh clothes. 

He went to the desk and found a blank piece of paper, jotting down a note to Sherlock about how he was going to nip home and be right back. He left it on his pillow beside Sherlock, kissed his temple lightly and left. He walked to his own flat, enjoying the cool morning. When he got there he packed a proper bag, enough for a few days until they figured out the move. He came back out to the street to hail a cab, throwing his arm out and waiting for one to stop. 


	13. A Confrontation

A black cab stopped then drove off, after John got in and gave him Sherlock's address. However, it pulled over a mile up the road. The door opened and the man from last night got in, sliding next to John.

"John Watson," he said, as the car moved on. "I think we need to have a little talk." He spoke quietly but clearly. "I'm afraid we weren't properly introduced last night. My name is Mycroft Holmes, and Sherlock is my brother."

John's anger spiked when he saw Sherlock's brother getting into the cab, and he almost got out from the other side. But he stayed, looking over at him as he spoke. "He told me who you are," John said carefully. 

"I'm glad to hear that. I trust he spoke kindly of me," Mycroft said. "I presume you took on board what I said last evening and couldn't possibly be heading back to Baker Street."

"Of course I'm going back to Baker Street," John said. He pulled his bag onto his lap and looked out of his window. 

Mycroft ignored his response. "You say you met Sherlock a few years ago. I'm sure I know the circumstances. But what you don't know is what he's gone through since then. I will not permit that part of Sherlock's life to repeat itself." He swallowed and continued. "There's a reason that Sherlock, when you asked about his life, as you undoubtedly did, was vague about what happened. It's because he knows very little about it. We helped him . . . to delete those details, and I will tell you that it was a complicated and painful process. I will not go through that again; I will not put him through that again. Your return to his current life put Sherlock's recovery at risk. So you understand the dilemma we now find ourselves in."

John listened patiently and shook his head as soon as Mycroft was finished. "I know what he used to do back then, and I know what he was using that money for. But I didn't find that out until after I was with him. I am grateful that you helped him out of that life, but he thought of me, too. He told me. He found me, and I'm not going to let him go again."

"I'm afraid I've misled you when I said we needed to have a little talk. What I mean was, I am going to talk and you are going to listen and then you're going to return to your flat." He saw John try to interrupt but Mycroft lifted his hand just a bit as he continued to speak. "Mr Watson, I don't think you have understood me. Sherlock couldn't possibly have thought of you because he remembers nothing. Do you not see? If he is lying to you already, he has started down the wrong path. That is not an option, and come on now, is that what you really want in your life? I don't think that would suit your medical career very well, a partner using drugs and sleeping with strangers for money," Mycroft glanced up at John. "But, more importantly, if you say you care about Sherlock, please . . . just leave him alone and let me take care of him. He was doing so well. Until you."

"He is still doing well! And I already told you _he_ found _me_. We were introduced as strangers by a mutual friend. I left him alone. He contacted me. I care about him a lot, and if he tells me that he wants me to leave then I will. Otherwise, I'm not going anywhere." John looked down at his bag, knowing that Sherlock wasn't lying to him. Sherlock remembered him, and he wasn't doing any of that anymore. 

"Sherlock doesn't have friends, John. The man who introduced you -- did you ask how he knows Sherlock? Did you ask how much money he has given Sherlock?" He let John think for a moment. "If you are waiting for Sherlock to tell you to leave, he won't. My brother is very good at manipulation. Did he tell you to leave the first time? I bet he asked you to stay even after he got his money."

John flushed, but he squared his jaw and shook his head. "The mutual friend we have works at the hospital where Sherlock uses the lab. And he didn't take my money." It wasn't a lie, since Sherlock did give it back, even if it was two years later. "I'm not discussing this any more. If you want to keep making your case to send me away, then we can do it in front of Sherlock."

"And Sherlock has lab access at that hospital . . . how? why? I told you he is a master of manipulation, John. Please -- haven't you had a difficult enough time since your return? Don't you want to concentrate on medical school? Sherlock knows how to seduce, John, but I am his brother and am immune to his charms. Leave him to me -- he will be taken care of, I assure. I protect him, but I also protect others from him," Mycroft looked over at John. He looked sincere.

John looked down at his bag again and shook his head. "I know Mike, it's not like that. I want to see Sherlock now." Sherlock promised they could talk about it all today, so he would simply ask Sherlock and get his side of things. That's what he needed to hear right now.

Mycroft looked over at John. "You're a smart man, John Watson. You've had life experiences some could never even imagine having. You've learned from life. And you're going to be a doctor, a good one, I'm sure." He smiled awkwardly. "You are clearly not involved with the drugs side of things. So it must be . . . the other. You took precautions, yes, you were safe -- or did you take the word of a drug addict who took your money and abandoned you to go fuck someone else until he had enough cash to inject a dirty needle into his arm?"

"No!" John shouted, looking down again. Shouting wasn't good -- it showed his doubt. "I want to go see Sherlock. Now." He didn't need Mycroft filling his head with these doubts. He needed to see Sherlock -- to ask him these things himself, to give him a chance to defend these things.

"Fine, John Watson," Mycroft said, leaning up and speaking quickly to the driver. "I have given you a warning. That is all I can do." He looked out the window a moment. "As I said, ultimately, he is my only concern. Do not think for one moment that I will stop trying to protect my brother." They drove on to Baker Street. 

Sherlock had woken up and reached out but John was not there. His heart stopped for a moment -- its ache made it hard for him to breathe. But he tried to. He closed his eyes and concentrated, Yes, it was real -- he hadn't dreamt it. It was real. They had spent every moment together since Angelo's. John was real.

He sat up and saw John's note on the pillow. Relief. He was real and he was returning. But Sherlock did not know when John had left the flat and left the note. Perhaps he'd been gone too long already, perhaps he wasn't coming back.

He stood up. He remembered what he'd been taught and tried to breathe. He stood there, just breathing, before putting on his dressing gown. It smelled of John. He went into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. He made himself a cup of tea, lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply then sat down to wait for John.

The cab pulled up to Baker Street. As John opened the door, Mycroft leaned over and grabbed his arm. "I am not a man you want against you, John Watson. Do not make me worry anymore than I already do." He watched John walk up to the door and quickly pulled out his phone to send John a text.

_Be careful. MH_

Then he typed Lestrade's number.

"Sherlock?" John called as he walked up the stairs. He had to be awake by now and if he wasn't John would wake him. He was rattled and he needed to clear this up.

"John?" Sherlock called, quickly getting up to the door. He took a few deep breaths. "I'm glad you've come back," he said softly, pulling him into his arms.

John closed his eyes and pressed into the hug breathing him in before speaking. "Your brother tried to stop me -- he said a lot of things . . ." He couldn't help speaking quietly, almost too nervous to bring it up.

"I'm sure he did, John," Sherlock said, stroking his back before stepping away. "But you needn't listen to him. He's only trying to hurt me." Sherlock said, looking away quickly because he knew that wasn't quite true.

"But you said we could talk about it today and I want to clear up the things he said," John said. Then he realised that sounded kind of bad. "I just want to hear your side of things."

"You already know my side of things, I've told you everything -- on our date," Sherlock said, pouring a cup of tea for John. He walked over and handed it to him. "Come on, let's get back in the bed."

"Sherlock -- you said we could talk about it, about him," John said, not moving from the sitting room. Was Sherlock trying to hide something after all?

"John," Sherlock said, but there was a pounding at the door. Sherlock moved to open it. He saw Lestrade and a group of four officers.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Sherlock said.

Lestrade came in with a piece of paper. "I have a warrant to search the flat," he said, pushing past Sherlock and deliberately handing John the paper. The rest of the men came in and began searching through the sitting room and kitchen. He cuffed Sherlock's hands behind his back and asked John for his name.

Sherlock took a few deep breaths, trying to quell his panic. "This is ridiculous," Sherlock shouted at him, focusing on his anger and dropping down into his chair.

"I assure you, sir, the possession of Class A drugs is not ridiculous," Lestrade said. "It's a very serious crime," he added, looking over at John, "and dangerous, as any good doctor would know."  
  
"All right, that proves it -- you've been speaking to Mycroft, please just leave us alone," Sherlock said, now angry and embarrassed.

"We received an anonymous tip," Lestrade said.

"Lie," Sherlock shouted. "Otherwise how would you know about his background? And don't pretend you deduced it, you've never deduced anything in your life." He tried a different approach, "Whatever Mycroft pays you, I will pay more. The next ten cases, I'll work for free."

Lestrade moved over to Sherlock's chair and touched his shoulder softly. "As I've told you on a number occasions, I do not accept bribes -- monetary or . . . otherwise. That's why you're cuffed. You need to keep your hands to yourself." He looked up at his men, "Search the bedroom."  
  
"No," Sherlock called. He immediately realised his mistake.

Lestrade smiled. A few minutes later, a man appeared from the bedroom, motioning Lestrade in.

"I'm so sorry, John," Sherlock said in a whisper.

Lestrade came striding out and walked directly over to John. "Are you all right? Are you being held here against your will? We're here to help you."

Sherlock dropped his head onto his lap. My god, he thought, Mycroft is good. He lifted his head and looked over at John. Please, he thought in his mind, please trust me, John. He said nothing.

John was lost in whirl of confusion for a moment before his anger swelled and took over. As they moved to the bedroom he knew they would see the toys but he had no time to be embarrassed. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he shouted, stepping closer to Lestrade. "I don't know what that maniac told you, but I am here because I want to be here. If he's not under arrest take the bloody cuffs off before I report you. They're obviously distressing him. How _dare_ you make accusations like that to him?"

His chest was heaving as he tried to breathe, to calm down. He kept having to remind himself that hitting a police officer was a bad idea. He moved to stand by Sherlock, touching his shoulder.

Lestrade reached down and uncuffed Sherlock. He handed John his card and said, "Be careful." Then he motioned to his men and they filed out.

Sherlock sat silently on the chair, trying to keep breathing. "I'm sorry," he finally said, in barely a whisper.

"It's not your fault your brother is insane," he said. "I know that he's trying to protect you, Sherlock, but he thinks that you're right on the line of going over. Is it that serious?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "I don't know what to think. I thought everything was all right, but . . ."

"Do you feel like you want to use again?" John asked, focusing on the drug side of it. He couldn't handle thinking about Sherlock out having sex with different men for money again.

"No, I didn't think so -- I don't think so," Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. God, how he hated Mycroft, he hated the way that his brother could confuse him or rather the way his brother made Sherlock confuse himself. It was a way to keep him dependent, Sherlock knew that, knew that logically, but Mycroft had saved him before . . .

"Your brother said it's my fault. He said that you deleted everything and there's no way you could remember me. He says I am going to drag you back to that life." John looked down at his hands for a moment, then at his bag, and then at Sherlock. "If I have to leave . . . I just want you to be safe, Sherlock. To be happy and to be safe . . ."

Sherlock swallowed. He thought about at Angelo's when he'd figured it out. He was sure then, he knew it. "You make me feel safe, John, and happy. You make me _feel_ ," he said. He stood up and shook out himself, rubbing his wrists, but not scratching his arms. "We need tea and I need a smoke," he said moving towards the kitchen. He turned on the kettle again and went to retrieve his cigarettes. He poured the tea and brought in the mugs, handing one to John and dropping the cigarette packet and lighter on the table. He sat across from John and met his gaze. "We each have to be honest. It'd probably be best if you told me everything he said," Sherlock said, meeting his gaze, "and then I will tell you everything I remember."

John looked down at his tea as he spoke. "He said that you tell everyone to stay, even after you take their money. He said the reason you can use the lab is because you have an arrangement with Mike. He said that I shouldn't be taking your word on safety, and that even if we were being careful you would be using dirty needles anyway."

"I see," said Sherlock. "And how much of that do you believe?" he asked, a bit afraid of the answer.

John looked up at him. "I don't want to believe any of it. I know you're not sleeping with Mike," he said. "And I don't believe that you told everyone to stay even after they have paid. I just . . . I suppose I don't know if you're using or not," he admitted quietly.

Sherlock stood up and went in to the bedroom, returning with a stack of papers. He set them on the table. "Every week for eighteen months, John," he said, sitting back down. "I'm clean -- in all ways." He took a sip of tea. "My god, he's fucking thorough -- you've got to give him that."

John realised that Mycroft would be in charge of these tests -- that he would know that Sherlock was clean. He hated him even more now. But he knew his worry -- his sister was a drunk and despite having Clara, she drank anyways. It wasn't enough to save her. He looked up at Sherlock and wondered if he would be enough. "I want the same thing he wants, Sherlock. Your safety and happiness. But I like to think that I go about it in a better way," he chuckled dryly. "If you ever feel like using -- you know you can tell me, right? We can get through it together." He wasn't a pushover like Clara.

"I don't feel like using -- only a few times since I stopped have I felt like it, but I haven't. The tests helped . . . which is why my brother is so infuriating," he said. "His ends are usually helpful, despite his means being far from ideal," he waved his hand around to remind John of what happened in the flat a little while ago. "I can only presume that he thinks you -- someone from my past -- might complicate my present. This is not, in and of itself, an unreasonable concern. However, he doesn't understand your importance," Sherlock said, "I do." 

John nodded, looking down at his tea again. "I want to show him that he doesn't have to worry about me -- that he can trust me so he doesn't have to harass you like this all the time."

"To be honest, John, he doesn't do stuff like this all the time . . . he has helped. He saved my life," he said bluntly.

"I know," John said, meeting his gaze. "I know he did and I want to show him that I am not here to ruin what he's done. I want to show him that I can help -- that I can be good for you," he said.

"There's probably something you need to know then . . . something he said, probably needs a little more explanation," Sherlock said, taking a deep breath.

"What's that?" he asked, looking up again. 

"He wasn't lying -- I don't remember before," Sherlock said. "Here is what I know. Something . . . happened and I ended up in the hospital. Mycroft came to see me and offered to help, but apparently I did not find that idea appealing so once I was healed, I checked myself out and went back to . . . so Mycroft had me arrested. I was sent away -- not to jail, to . . . rehab, I guess," he swallowed. "And that's where I learned how to delete things. I didn't have to feel anything and I got better. It wasn't easy, but I deleted it all -- the bad thing, the drugs, the men, even . . . you." He decided now it was time for a cigarette. He lit one before continuing.

"But you came back. Not back to London, back to my mind. I thought of you sometimes, I thought it was a story I made up in my head, to make me feel calm," he inhaled and exhaled the smoke. "Until I saw you in the hospital. And then I remembered you. I remembered. I returned your money but I was afraid -- I didn't know what bits were true or if it even mattered to you or if it should to me. It was one night, after all . . . so I tried to stop thinking about it -- not delete it, but just let it be like a normal memory. But I couldn't . . . you wouldn't leave my head." He put the cigarette out. "And I asked you over . . . and you know the rest."

"I know that in some post traumatic cases there's a . . . deleting . . . like that, like the brain is helping you cope with what happened." John couldn't bear to think about what might have happened to Sherlock. He held on to the little hope that he influenced Sherlock to change, that the fact that he was remembered out of anyone else meant that he was special -- that he was enough to save Sherlock the way Clara never was for Harry. "You are doing well now, and all of that it in the past. We can start over . . . together we can move on."

"The mind is an interesting thing, isn't it, John," Sherlock said. "Everything is in there still, realistically, but it's only you I can remember." He looked up into John's eyes. "That's why . . . I said I loved you. I believe I do, I want . . . you to stay with me -- in real life, not just in my mind. But has all this changed everything now?"

John smiled softly. "I really do love you Sherlock -- I have never felt like this about anyone. Not just the physical stuff -- everything that is us," he said. "Everyone's family is crazy -- that's not enough to make me give you up."

Sherlock smiled. "I know he looks after me, but he doesn't understand that sometimes he is the one who makes me confused. I'll never understand him, he's always been like that, even when we were children, but I'm used to it, mostly. I know you're not." He finished his tea. "But I don't want you to have to worry about me all the time, John. I'm not saying I don't have wobbles, but I'm okay -- I do okay. When I don't understand things, I don't run anymore. Just don't . . . be like him. Try to trust me, but if you do have questions, ask them." He finished his tea. "Don't pay off a cop to ask for you." 

John shook his head. "I do trust you. Of course I'll always come to you first." John finally started his tea, smiling up at him again. "Are you okay, after all of that?" 

"Yes, but . . . I won't lie, it was draining. I can't remember -- have we had something to eat yet today? I don't even remember how this day started, if I'm honest. I'd like to have a nap but we should probably have some food. I have a feeling your diet is a bit more regular than mine, and I want you to eat," Sherlock said.

"Would you like me to make you some breakfast?" John asked, standing up and moving into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and remembered the head, closing it quickly. "I could go pick something up."

"No, let's go together," Sherlock said. "I don't want to be away from you just yet. Have you already showered? That might help wake me up properly and then we'll go eat -- well, it's lunchtime now technically -- and then we'll come home for a nap. What do you think?"

"I had a shower at my place before I packed," John said. "Go ahead and wash up while I take this to your room." He smiled and kissed his lips. "Come on then, I'm hungry," he teased.

"All right, I'll just be a minute," Sherlock said. He grabbed some clean clothes and went into the bathroom. He tried not to think of what had happened last night and this morning, he tried not to think of Mycroft being around John. He made a race with himself to get ready. He found John back in the sitting room and said, "Let's go."


	14. A Resolution

When Sherlock was ready, John smiled and took his hand. "Let's go," he repeated, leading the way out.

Sherlock followed John downstairs. "What do you want to eat?" he asked, grabbing John's hand.

"I know it's afternoon but I am really craving pancakes," John smiled.

"Well, let's go back to the cafe then. They serve breakfast food all day," Sherlock said, leading the way. He held the door open for John and they took the same booth as yesterday.

"What are you getting?" John asked as he looked at the menu, trying to decide if he wanted eggs as well.

"I'll just have tea and toast, I think," Sherlock said. He glanced at John. "And scrambled eggs." The server came and took their orders.

Sherlock reached over for John's hand. "A lot has happened since we were last here. Which was actually only yesterday. It's all been unusual, hasn't it?"

"It seems a lot longer than just one day," John admitted, smiling up at him.

"It was brilliant up until late last night, but I guess that was best since now you know everything I know. But do you remember what happened yesterday daytime?" Sherlock said. "Do you remember what we talked about at this table yesterday and then went home and did?"

John nodded. "I won't ever forget that stuff," he smiled.

"Do you think we'll do things like that again or was it just the thrill of Day One?" Sherlock asked. He fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers.

"We can definitely do it again! It felt incredible -- why would we deny ourselves that?" John smiled and took his fiddling hand. 

"Good," Sherlock said, squeezing John's hand. "You're so lovely, you know."

"You are lovely as well," John grinned. "More than lovely. Fantastic."

The food came and Sherlock tried to eat as much of it as it could. He did manage three cups of tea, which he regretted on the way home. He rushed in to go to the bathroom as soon as they got back to the flat.

John chuckled as he shut the door and headed for the bedroom. He stripped down to his undershirt and pants before getting into bed.

Sherlock came out of the bathroom and looked into the bedroom, where John was already in bed. "That's a nice sight to see," he said. He took off his own clothes and crawled in next to him. "It feels nice being in the bed with you, though we really ought to change these sheets. Remind me when we get up. 

"I'll try and remember," John smiled, turning to face him. "It's very nice doing all of this with you -- all of this domesticated stuff."

"I suppose," Sherlock said. "You do realise if you'd like to live in a clean flat, that's pretty much going to have be up to you." He snuggled against John. "That reminds me -- the head . . . I'll just get rid of it, yeah?" He kissed John softly and then laughed a little. "I think that's the longest I've gone without kissing you since we came back from our date." 

John grinned. "What's with the head, anyways? Old boyfriend?" He teased.

"An experiment," Sherlock said. "But to be honest, I got bored of it. But it's not really the kind of thing you put out with the recycling, you know?" He fiddled with John's hair.

"No, I suppose not," John said. He smiled at the touch. "Should I expect more body parts?"

"Is that a pick up line?" Sherlock said, smiling.

John snorted a little laugh. "I would hope I could do a little better than that," he said. 

"Hmm . . . I'm obviously a sucker for whatever lines you use," Sherlock said, kissing his mouth again.

John hummed and kissed him back, bringing his hand up to Sherlock's hair. He really loved petting Sherlock's hair. 

"I like that," Sherlock said, closing his eyes and concentrating. "It's comforting -- like this. Sexy, when you do it a little differently." It reminded of him of the first time. He remembered.

"Like this?" he asked, tugging on it lightly as he kissed him again. 

"Mmm . . . a bit like that, yes," he said. He slid his own hands into John's hair and scratched his nails softly across his scalp. "You're so beautiful . . ."

"Quit talking to yourself when I'm trying to kiss you," John smiled, pressing his mouth to Sherlock's again. 

Sherlock tangled his legs with John's. "Mmmm, you feel so good to be beside, John." He scooted himself even closer, partly draping himself over John. "I just want to be closer."

"I'm glad we feel the same way about cuddling -- it's like I want you to crush me," he smiled, tugging Sherlock on top of him. He brought both hands to Sherlock's face, stroking with his thumbs. "You're supposed to be napping, mister."

"I'm resting, John, that's the main thing," he rocked his hips just a little. "Put your hands in my hair again, please. It helps me rest."

John slid his hands back and laced them into his hair, curling his fingers slowly.

Sherlock leaned in and kissed John, long and passionately. "I love you, John Watson," he said when he pulled away. He snuck his head against the pillow next to John's. "I never want to go to sleep without you next to me."

"You never have to, love," John murmured, leaning up to kiss him again. "I -- love you -- too," he said between each kiss.

Sherlock slowly rolled his hips against John's. "Do you think you'll stay at this flat with me?" he said quietly, before humming lightly as he sucked on John's earlobe.

John closed his eyes with a small sigh. "Yeah, I think I will." His hands were slowly roaming up and down Sherlock's sides and back.

"Well, you've already had a taste of the negative things that come with sharing a flat with me," Sherlock said as he continued to move slowly against John's body, "is there anything I should be prepared for when living with you?"

John tried to think about his worst habits, but he'd never lived with anyone before so he didn't know. "The only thing I can think of is the nightmares," he said quietly. They got so bad sometimes he woke up tangled in the sheets and sometimes crying. "But I haven't had one sleeping with you yet."

"But if you do, you'll wake me, yes, and let me take care of you?" Sherlock said. He slipped one hand to John's hip and gripped it as he moved down and kissed John's neck. 

"Sure," John murmured, pushing his hips up against Sherlock. He opened his legs so Sherlock could settle closer, pushing up against him easier.  

Sherlock started a more deliberate grinding motion against John. His hand on John's hip held tighter and with his other, he pulled up John's t-shirt and began to kiss and suck lightly on John's nipple.

"Ah . . .yes," he moaned softly, lacing his fingers into his Sherlock's hair and tugging lightly again. 

Sherlock moved to John's other nipple. Then he lifted his head to look at John. "Would you mind taking the rest of your clothes off?"

"No," John smiled. He pulled his shirt off properly and squirmed a bit to get out of his pants as well. "That's better."

Sherlock covered John's chest with kisses and then moved down to his belly and his hips. He scooted down and started kissing John's legs -- down one and up the other. Then he moved to John's side and slowly wrapped his hand around John's cock, starting a slow stroke.

John hummed softly, shifting to face Sherlock. "Together," he murmured, wrapping a hand around Sherlock to stroke him as well. He admired his face, pressing kisses on his cheeks and forehead. 

"Yes," Sherlock said softly, "I love to feel your hand on me." He kissed John's mouth as he continued to stroke him, speeding up just a little.

John deepened the kiss, copying his movements, keeping it the same. The effect was nice.

Sherlock moaned a little -- it felt so good. Because it was John. "Make me come, John, like this . . . with you," he moaned softly. "Because I love you."

"I love you," John said, gripping a bit harder and adding a small twist. He moved a bit faster, pecking kisses on his mouth as he started to pant softly

Sherlock bucked a little into John's hand. He moved harder and faster on John, spreading his precome, making everything slick. He felt heat and electricity spread through his body. He pressed his mouth against John's face, panting into his skin. 

"You're so sexy . . . fuck," John moaned softly, pushing his hips for more.

Sherlock's hand moved fast and hard now because he was so close. "John, don't stop, please," he begged. He tried to hold on as long as he could, pressing his mouth against John's neck. But it was too late, he came into John's hand, biting down softly on his neck as he did. "God," he called out, trying to keep his focus on John.

John gasped and threw his head back, moaning for Sherlock as he came seconds later. His brain fixed on everything mixing together as they continued stroking until both of them lay panting and still.

Once Sherlock had caught his breath, he reached over and grabbed John's t-shirt, wiping up both of them. Then he snuggled against John. "Sleep," he said softly, wrapping one arm over John. He closed his eyes.

"If you insist," John said sleepily. It took him a while to actually doze off, but he marveled at being wrapped up with Sherlock until he did, murmuring how much he loved him.

In Sherlock's head, there weren't many memories. But John was there and now John was here as well. He fell to sleep beside him.


End file.
